Can't Stop the Waves
by Miss Construed
Summary: You can't stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.  Sookie Stackhouse has spent the last five years doing what everyone else wants her to do.  Now it's her turn to take control and live the adventure she's always wanted.  AU/AH, rated M for language.
1. Chapter 1:  Wipeout

**AN:** Well folks, here it is, the long anticipated Surfer Eric fic I've been talking about for the past four months. Many thanks to **peppermintyrose** and **worthfighting4** for reminding me that I promised to write this, and oodles and oodles of thanks to **pfloogs72** for reading the various forms this story has taken and helping make it readable. And finally, thanks to everyone who is taking the time to read this. I hope you enjoy it!

The characters in this fic are the creation of Charlaine Harris. The rest is how I envision they'd be in the human world.

~~~**WIPEOUT**~~~

"Sookie," Bill's voice breaks through the layer of haze surrounding me. "Sookie?"

I look up and blink slowly, like I'm Dora the freaking Explorer waiting for someone to tell me where the red square is. Funny thing about that, I know exactly where it is, but I sure as heck don't want to acknowledge it.

"What?" I ask and shake my head quickly to clear visions of cartoon foxes swiping that dreaded red box and focus on the man sitting across from me.

Shit.

I've just been proposed to. And not one of those "oh sweet Jesus will you marry mes" that I get at a fairly frequent interval from Terry Bellefleur when I deliver his coffee and sweet rolls either (though I did get that earlier in the day too). A genuine marriage proposal. From the man I have been dating for what seems like forever.

Shit.

I realize that most girls in my situation would be jumping out of their chair, falling to the ground and thanking God that their boyfriend finally got off his ass and asked them to marry them. But, I guess I'm not most girls.

I look across the table and have to stifle a groan that I can feel bubbling up inside of me. It wouldn't be polite to respond that way, not when said boyfriend has gone through so much trouble.

I can't help myself from taking a step back and assessing the situation. To an outsider this exact moment might look like something in a scene on the Hallmark channel, or hell, maybe a scene from a Taylor Swift video complete with blonde girl in a flouncy dress. I look down at my lap and focus on the napkin that is haphazardly covering the lilac fabric of the dress Bill bought me and insisted I wear tonight.

I hate lilac. But that is beside the point.

I force myself to look up and meet Bill's expectant brown eyes. He looks handsome, albeit slightly uncomfortable in his surroundings, not that I can blame him. It has been a good four minutes since he placed the red velvet box in front of me, and I haven't even opened it yet. I know what's in there.

For all intents and purposes, this should be the happiest moment of my life, but frankly it feels like the most painful.

Yes, I've been dating him for what seems like forever, and yes I had an inkling this was going to happen tonight, but that doesn't mean I'm prepared for it. You may be wondering why am I not jumping over the table and peppering Bill with kisses, shouting 'yes' at the top of my lungs.

Good question.

I'm not thinking about our future together, or rather, I am. But instead of imagining what I will look like on our wedding day, or what it will be like to live with him property, I am thinking about the fact that I will never experience the rush of the first kiss ever again; that I will never get to fulfill my dream of running off to some exotic location and meeting a handsome stranger; that if I agree to this, I will never again be able to be Sookie and not as part of a couple. No, I do not think that marrying Bill Compton will make life perfect. Instead, I think that marriage to Bill Compton means that I will always be Sookie Stackhouse…er, Compton from Bon Temps, Louisiana, the girl who came back to Bon Temps and donned a giant failure sign, complete with requisite flashing red arrow.

I slump down in my chair. I am sure I look like the world's biggest asshole, but I don't care.

The last place I imagined I would be when I left Bon Temps nine years ago was working at Merlotte's and dating the guy I used to sit next to in Computer Science. Hell, nine years ago I would have laughed at the thought that I'd ever even kiss Bill Compton, much less have him propose to me.

I am so not the type of girl that sits at home and dreams about settling down and starting a family. My life's to-do list is long, but hardly daunting despite the fact that I've wasted the past however many years doing zilch on it. I'm a big fan of dealing with things later, which is probably how I ended up in this exact position.

Leaving a trail of broken hearts around the world (goal number 9) is a bit difficult to accomplish when I've only gone as far as Dallas (travel the world was goal number 1); and Bill is the second man I've even kissed unless you count Hoyt Fortenberry when I was fourteen, but that hardly counts since it was a dare and he passed out when I slipped him the tongue.

Anyway you look at it, I've been a big fat failure at accomplishing anything on my list. Which is exactly why I find myself here, sitting across from a man I have settled for, staring at the ominous red box in front of me. What should be the happiest moment of my life is far from it. Instead of my stomach being aflutter with excitement, I feel like I am going to be sick.

It's not that I'm against marriage. I figure that I will get married eventually, really I do. I've even gone as far as to imagine the moment of my engagement, though those dreams are always more Heidi and Seal in an igloo than dinner and dancing in Shreveport. I mean, sure, that seems to do okay for the average couple, but the last thing I want to feel on the night of my engagement is average. Bill could have taken me to the fair and hidden a ring in cotton candy for all I care. I want something different; something special. At the end of the day, I know that Bill Compton isn't the man that is going to give me special.

I suppose this will sound bad - who can I be more honest with than myself? – but in my engagement fantasies, I always imagine said proposer to be a bit taller, a bit more glamorous, and most importantly, I imagine being completely in love with the man.

I like Bill. I think I even love him, but more and more lately I am realizing that what I feel isn't enough. I love him like a brother, or a beloved cousin. That I sleep with. Okay, scratch that. I don't love him like a relative; I love him like a friend. And no matter how much I love my friends, God knows I don't plan on sleeping with them, or spending every minute of every day with them.

Lately, every time I leave Bill's house, I have a nagging feeling that there is something else out there for me; that there's a plan for me that doesn't involve a farm house in Bon Temps, Louisiana, or a man with sideburns that he thinks make him look unique, but really make him look like a reject from the set of the Blues Brothers.

I've always had reservations about Bill, but clearly haven't had the gumption to do anything about them. No, it has been easier to swallow problems and plaster a smile on my face. Keep on trucking, as Tara always says. Ha. I'm clearly not much of a trucker.

I can't imagine being old and on my death bed, or heck being just five years older than my twenty-seven years, and regretting a decision like this. I need to stand up and dare to do what I want to do, and be more adventurous. And for that reason alone, I know the answer I have to give Bill Compton. How in the heck I am going to do it is still beyond me, but at least I know what I'm going to do.

I hear Bill say my name, and force myself to snap out of my self-imposed psychoanalysis.

"I-" I lift my hand to my chest, as if that can somehow protect me from what I'm about to do. "I don't know what to say."

His eyebrows raise so high that they disappear under his brown bangs and he clears his throat, the only noise I can hear in the crowded restaurant. "I was hoping you'd say yes."

I don't say anything.

"It shouldn't be this difficult Sookie." His nervous laugh makes me uncomfortable; I can sense the anxiety boiling beneath the surface. I can't blame him. I'd be upset too if I asked someone this particular question and they hemmed and hawed at all.

"I know." Crap, I sound rushed, and nervous. Who am I kidding? I am rushed and nervous. "I just… wasn't expecting it."

_Liar, liar, pants on fire_. I had a sneaking suspicion. Well, more than a sneaking suspicion after Tara saw Bill at the jewelry store in Shreveport last week. That had gone in one ear and out the other. I'm really good at ignoring what I don't want to hear.

He sets his mouth in what I've come to call his "disappointed Bill" frown. I've been on the receiving end of this more and more as of late.

"How can you say that Sookie?" he asks, reaching out and trying to grab my hand. I pull my hand away, not wanting to give him an inch of encouragement for what I am about to do.

"It just seems so rushed," I offer. I close my eyes and remind myself that ripping a Band-Aid off is much better than peeling it back slowly.

"We have known each other since you were fourteen. That is hardly rushed."

"But we have only been dating for-"

"Over two years."

"Has it been that long?" Oh God, I sound like an idiot. I remember exactly how long we've been dating, it's just about as long as I've allowed myself to stay holed up in Louisiana, wasting that four year hospitality degree I'd worked so hard to obtain. Way to go me.

"You know it has." At least he calls me on my bullshit. I can give him that. His eyes close, and I can see him forcing himself to smile as he continues, "Sookie, I love you. I thought you loved me too."

"I do!" I insist. Like a beloved friend. Or a dog. Shit.

"Then I fail to see the problem." His teeth are clenched so tight that I'm afraid they're going to snap like brittle chiclets.

"I...I..." I what, exactly? It's not like I can say what I am really thinking. That I can't imagine being Sookie Compton, mother of 2.5 children, who never got the chance to discover what else is out there? Can't imagine being sixty and attending Civil War reenactments to watch Bill surrender on behalf of the Confederate Army? Can't stomach the thought of having safe, comfortable, clockwork sex for the rest of my life? No. I can't say any of that.

"Sookie?" he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. My eyes snap up to meet his, and I see the hurt and frustration in their brown depths.

"I can't," I say, feeling like the world's biggest asshole. Well, watch me trump that. "I'm so sorry Bill." I push my chair back, dropping the napkin that is on my lap on the table.

"Sookie," he pleads, "I don't understand."

"I know," I say, desperate to get out of here. "I can't explain. Believe me, if I thought I could, I would. I just can't marry you."

I hear him call my name as I walk away, but refuse to turn around. I can't. If I turn around, I will let him talk me into saying yes, and I can't let him. I need to put insane amounts of distance between us before he can give me those puppy dog eyes and convince me to stay. Those puppy dog eyes and abandonment issues were why I ended up dating him in the first place. They were like my personal form of kryptonite.

I somehow make it to the front door without being stopped, and let out a sigh of relief when the door closes behind me. First step accomplished, now I just need to figure out a way to get home. Maybe driving to Shreveport with Bill wasn't the best idea.

I walk blindly for two blocks, finally ducking into the darkened doorway of a bar I've never heard of. The interior is dark; seclusive; exactly the kind of place that Bill would never think to look for me. I keep my head down as I rush to a darkened corner booth that is empty. More good fortune.

I hear my phone ring, and look down to see Bill's number flash across the screen. I silence the call and set the phone down in front of me. A better person might answer his call, but I am definitely not a better person. I don't want to talk to him now, and I doubt I will change my mind in the near future. The phone lights up a second time, and he leaves a message that I am sure I am not going to listen to any time soon.

The waitress is dressed in black leather, her skin so pale that I wonder if she has ever seen the sun. She snarls as I give her my order, and brings it over to me without a word. My whole body relaxes when I take a sip of the gin and tonic. I can do this. I can figure this out.

I call my brother to ask him for a ride, and believe me, he is none too happy to be interrupted in the middle of a date with the new girl Crystal he's been hanging out with. A few minutes of begging and bargaining, and he agrees to drive to Shreveport. Yes, it's going to cost me gas money and whatever he wanted in a drive thru, but that's a small price to pay to not have to ride home with the man I've rejected.

I slump down further in the booth and close my eyes. God, this has been an awful day. An awful year. Hell, an awful two years. How have I let myself fall so far down after my less than triumphant return to Bon Temps?

Complacency plays a big role in it, I suppose. So has the male population in my life. All my good sense, all my plans seem to fly out the window because of them. I wish I could say that Bill was the first man I changed plans to be with, but I, unfortunately, have a history of making massive life decisions based on the man I am sleeping with.

Relationships are bad news for me. They all start out nice, what with the kissing and romantic gestures, but within no time, it's giving up my adventure so that I can be the little lady. As bad as it is to say, I'm almost glad that Gran isn't around to see me like this. She always wanted the best for me, wanted me to go out and live the life that she never got the chance to have.

I had been well on my way to adventure when I left for college. I was going to set the world on fire, to see what I could make of myself, by myself. I'd done well at school, graduating first in my class with plenty of offers to choose from, from hotels all across the States. I'd never seen Gran look as proud of me as the day she and Jason helped me unpack in my first apartment in Dallas. I wanted to prove to her that I could make it, that I could break the mold of the Stackhouse women before me and forge my own path without a man at my side.

I'd been doing pretty well on my own, but then I met Quinn, and everything came to a halt. I hadn't dated much in high school or college; I was too focused on my success to care much about a boyfriend. Even after moving to Dallas, I had stayed focused on work, making friends and avoiding any serious relationships. Turned out fate had a different idea for me.

The day after my six month anniversary at the hotel, I looked up from the pile of papers at my desk and into the violet eyes of the man who would change everything for me. While I made it a rule not to date customers of the hotel, Quinn had been persistent, and three dates later all the I-am-Woman thoughts I had were quickly replaced by the desire to get into his pants. I hadn't really dated anyone seriously before him, and I quickly learned that my twenty-three year old self was easily persuaded to play the little woman of the manor. Who needed independence when you had a handsome boyfriend who satisfied you in every way possible?

Turns out, I did.

We moved in together after knowing each other for a month, spending every waking - and sleeping - moment together. The first six months had been blissful, but it was in that seventh month that the problems started. Turned out Mr. Smart, Handsome & Successful also had family issues. I'm not talking Carol Sever butting into your conversation issues; no, this was more _What Ever__ Happened to Baby Jane _style family issues. And when it became apparent that he would always choose his family over me, I made the decision to leave him.

It hadn't been easy, far from it. We'd been together for over a year. I had no place to live in Dallas, no friends that weren't associated with Quinn. He didn't make it any easier, calling me ten times a day, begging me to come back to him, telling me that he had changed. I wanted to believe him, and had even agreed to meet him for dinner one night, but he had left halfway through the meal because his younger sister Frannie had needed him. I wasn't the type of person that needed lots of attention; I understood that sometimes family did have to come first, but sometimes I needed to come first too. It was the last time I saw him. I had been living at the hotel for a month when I received the call from Jason that Gran had taken a turn for the worse, asking me to come home and help her.

I had done what I needed to do, taking temporary leave from my job to rush back to Bon Temps. That temporary leave turned more permanent when Gran passed and I wound up naked and in Bill's bed.

I'd broken my promises to myself twice – first with Quinn and now with Bill – but it isn't going to happen again. I can't let it happen again. For once, I need to stand up for myself; to do what I want to do, and not let a man, or anyone really, influence my path.

My eyes feel heavy as I look down into the half empty gin and tonic. I can sit here all night – or at least as long as it takes for Jason to get here – and try and figure out my future, but God knows that nothing I think of tonight is going to be rational. I need to get home, go to bed and think about this tomorrow, when I've had a good night's sleep.

What I need now is something to do, someone to talk to who can take my mind off of Bill Compton. I pick up the phone up and try to figure out who that someone is. I smile as soon as I see her name in my address book. Yes, a call to Amelia is just what I need.

She picks up the phone before the first ring even finishes it, her familiar voice shrieking my name. "Sookie! What on earth are you doing calling me at eleven pm? Is everything okay? Are you hurt?"

I met Amelia at college. She is from New Orleans, and from an incredibly wealthy family. We couldn't be more different, but we somehow managed to hit it off and the rest, as they say, is history. She moved to California after graduation, working at a string of hotels as an excuse to be at the beach. Amelia is constantly trying to get me to move out with her, telling me there was nothing in the world like the Pacific Ocean. Maybe she is right, but I've never taken her up on the offer. No, instead I have decided to be Lauren Conrad personified, only instead of not going to Paris and getting my own reality show, I got to move back to Bon Temps. The irony isn't lost on me.

Turns out Amelia is really good at her job, and the company transferred her to Hawaii to run their hotel on Oahu last year. At twenty six. Talk about good fortune. But none of that has gone to her head. She is still Amelia Carmichael, the girl who listened to me swoon over John Quinn, and told me to throw his ass to the curb once and for all, only to fly out and help me move back to Bon Temps. She is the one person I can count on to be there for me, no matter what happens.

"No, I'm fine. Everything's okay."

"Oh. Good. Wait. Shouldn't you be out with your boyfriend?"

I groan and rest my cheek on my balled fist. "Ex."

"What?"

"Ex-boyfriend."

"You didn't!"

"I did."

"What happened? Hold on." I hear her cover the mouthpiece of her phone with her hand and her muffled voice tell someone that she is on an important business call and that she is not to be bothered. "Okay," she says. I hear the sound of a door shut. "You dumped Bill?"

"How do you know I dumped him?" I ask. I know the answer. Of course I was the one doing the dumping in this relationship. "Maybe he dumped me."

"Whatever," she says with a scoff. "Why in the world would Bill Compton dump you? You're the best thing that's ever happened to him. Well, the only thing that's ever happened to him."

"He's not that bad. He's quite lovely."

"Whatever. Quite lovely doesn't get my libido going. Lovely is the farthest thing from sexy imaginable. It's about time you dumped him."

"Bill can be very sexy," I say defensively. I am not sure why I feel the need to argue with Amelia. I mean, I just dumped the man; not only did I dump him, but I told him I didn't want to marry him. No cash; double whammy.

"You dumped him Sookie," she points out. "He couldn't have been good in the sexy department, or you wouldn't have thrown him over."

"Not true! Just because you place everything on sex, doesn't mean everyone else does. And just because someone is good in bed isn't reason enough to stay with them."

"As evidenced by your dumping of John Quinn. He was a tiger if I remember correctly?"

I groan. "I still can't believe I told you that."

"You're the one who said Bill didn't push all your buttons."

I regret that conversation. Too much gin is a bad thing for me. I look down at the gin in front of me and shrug; it isn't as if the night is going to get much worse anyway. I take a long drink.

"Why did you dump him?" she asks.

"He…um…he asked me to marry him." I say the last six words in such a rush that I can hardly understand myself.

"He _what?"_ she shrieks.

"He asked me to marry him," I repeat, though a bit slower this time, or at least slow enough that I don't sound like a cracked out auctioneer anymore.

"He proposed to you?" I make a noise of assent. "And you not only said no, but you then proceeded to dump him?"

"Maybe," I squeak.

Her laughter fills the receiver. "Look at you, Sookie Stackhouse. I didn't think you had it in you anymore."

"I didn't either."

"When did all this happen?"

I look down at the watch on my wrist – the watch Bill gave me. "Um, about twenty minutes ago."

"Oh no! Where are you now?"

"I have no idea." I grab the drink menu and almost spit out my drink when I see the name. "Some place called Fangtasia. In Shreveport."

"What the hell kind of place is that?"

I shrug, looking around the room at the other patrons. "I have no clue. It's a bar of some sort. Real dark and kind of goth."

She laughs again. "And you're sitting there by yourself? Doesn't that seem like the kind of place you shouldn't be?"

"Yep. That's exactly why I ducked in here. Bill would never think to look for me here. No one has bothered me yet."

"What are you going to do?" she asks, suddenly serious.

"Wait for Jason to get here, I guess. Try to sneer at the next person who flashes their fangs at me?"

"Fangs?" she asks with a chuckle.

"Yep. Stupid _Twilight_ and everyone's desire to be Edward Cullen."

"Bill was kind of like Edward Cullen." She pauses and I can imagine her brows wrinkling as she contemplates something. "Actually, a lot like Edward Cullen. Pale, moody, possessive."

"And don't forget sparkly!" I add. Yes, this gin and tonic has finally taken root and I am officially tipsy.

"Of course not! How could I forget that? But, no Sookie, I don't mean right now. What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean tomorrow, the next day…what are you going to do? If you stay in Bon Temps, you know that Bill is going to stop by Merlotte's and your house all the time. Kind of the downside to having your boyfriend live across the cemetery from you." She pauses. "Have I ever mentioned how creepy I think that is?"

"Only every time we talk about Bill."

"Good," she says. "Because it is creepy; and it's only going to get worse now that you've broken his heart."

"I didn't break his heart!" I insist.

"Um hmm. Listen Sook, he asked you to marry him and you said no. I'd say that's a definite heart breaking moment."

"Oh, well, I suppose when you put it that way…" Two hearts don't make a string, do they? Funny to think that this moment may get me closer to accomplishing one of my goals.

"So, what are you going to do?"

I slump back in the booth and close my eyes. I haven't thought about having to live so close to Bill, about having to see him every day. In the moment, I knew I had to say no, but I didn't think about what is going to happen the next time I see him.

"Shit," I groan.

"My sentiments exactly."

"I have no idea. I guess I can hide in the house?"

"That might work," she says, the sarcasm dripping from her words. "For two days."

"Oh God, Amelia!" I exclaim, suddenly realizing the severity of the situation. Shit, living next door to your ex isn't exactly my idea of a rocking good time. "I don't know what I'm going to do. You know me. I can't see him. If I do, then he'll look sad, and I'll feel awful, and then I'll probably end up back together with him."

"Why don't you come to Oahu?" she asks, as if it were that simple.

"What?" Maybe I am hearing things. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Come to Oahu," she repeats. "I've got plenty of space at my place, and I can offer you a job where you can actually use your degree."

"I don't think you should offer me a job out of pity."

"Sookie Stackhouse," she chides, "do you think I'd honestly give you a job if I thought you were a screw up? You were the top of our class; I should be working for _you_, not the other way around. But really, one of the concierges is blowing it big time and I've been trying to figure out what to do about it. It's perfect."

"I can't just pick up and move to Hawaii!"

"Why not? What's holding you back?"

"I don't know," I say petulantly. "Certainly not Bill."

"What then?" she asks. "You're twenty-seven! You need to get out and live a little."

"You're calling moving to Hawaii living a little?"

She lets out a whoosh of air. "Fine, don't move to Hawaii for good. Just come and work out here for a few months. It's got to be cold and icky there anyway. Take a few months vacation, see if you like it. It's Hawaii for Pete's sake! How bad could it be?"

Images of long, sandy white beaches, hours of sun in which to sunbathe and palm trees float before my eyes. I've been meaning to get out and see Amelia; maybe the suggestion isn't as ridiculous as I first thought. Maybe I'd get closer to accomplishing two of my goals.

"I don't know," I say, reluctantly. "I can't make a decision like that right now. I'm too confused as it is, I can't throw that in there too."

"Sleep on it."

"I don't know."

"Just give it a chance. What else are you going to do? Stay in Bon Temps and be a waitress for the rest of your life?"

"Ouch."

"True though." She has a point.

"Still…"

"You're meant for bigger things Sookie Stackhouse and you know it. You're not a small town girl. It's time to get out and live a little. You're never going to accomplish anything if you're too afraid to try."

Before I can respond, she gets interrupted on her end. "I've got to go Sook. Promise me you'll think about it and call me tomorrow?"

I mumble my assent and hear the line go dead. Fantastic. Just what I needed, another thing to keep me up at night.

I finish my drink and order another, closing the tab and leaving my grumpy waitress a tip that is far too generous for the service she gave me. It's going to be a long night. I'm going to need all the help I can get.


	2. Chapter 2: Changing the Tide

**AN:** Thanks to everyone who read, alerted, reviewed and favorite this story. I am so glad you are all enjoying it. And a special thanks to **pfloogs72 **for being the best pre-reader and adviser ever.

I do plan on posting a chapter a week, most likely on Thursdays if you are interested in reading more about the Surfer and Sookie.

As a disclaimer, the characters still are the creation of Charlaine Harris. I just make them play Beach Blanket Bingo.

* * *

**Chapter 2: ****Changing the Tide**

"I can't believe you're here!" Amelia shrieks, throwing her arms around me and dislodging my carry-on shoulder bag. I laugh and try to brace myself against her attack rather unsuccessfully. I am not a match for Amelia on a good day, much less after travelling for the better part of twenty-four hours. She is a tiny little thing, and certainly doesn't look like much of a threat from the outside, but I know that underneath that wild brown hair and those unassuming wide green eyes she packs more power in her little pinky than most people do in their entire bodies.

"I can't believe I am either!" I reply truthfully.

I had dwelled on her offer the entire drive home with Jason. He hadn't noticed my silence much, since he was busy babbling on about how he had apparently left Crystal alone in bed so he could come and get me. I was sure that she wouldn't mind. The girls that dated someone like Jason weren't typically looking for more than a romp in the sack. They weren't like me at all. Never falling into relationships just because they had sex. God, I really needed to change that.

Jason had dropped me off rather unceremoniously, and peeled out of the long gravel drive before I even made it to the front door. The house had been dark and quiet – just what I needed at that moment. I had wanted to be alone, to peel out of the lavender dress (which I wanted to burn, but had instead decided to give to Tara) and crawl into bed by myself. I hadn't been feeling sorry for myself – far from it – I just needed solitude, which is exactly what I got. For forty-five minutes.

Instead of getting the chance to sleep on it, I had been woken up by an incessant pounding at the front door. Whoever was at the door (and I had a sneaking suspicion of who it was, since nobody ever bothered to come to the end of Hummingbird Lane) wasn't going to go away easily.

"Sookie!" Bill's all too familiar voice had called. "Sookie! We need to talk."

I had heard the edge of anger in his voice. Bill wasn't a particularly violent man, but I supposed being rejected could cause a sane man to do things he normally wouldn't. I had felt awful, like the scum of the earth for cowering in my bed while he stood outside. There wasn't anything wrong with him really. He had been a good boyfriend, but in that moment, I had just known that he wasn't the right man for me.

I had stayed in bed, silently thanking my dazed self for leaving the front porch light on and the rest of the house dark as if I hadn't been at home at all. He had no idea I was here; no way of knowing that Jason had picked me up. For all he knew, I was staying with one of my friends in Shreveport, and I wanted it to stay that way.

So, like a scared child, I had remained huddled under my covers, barely daring to breathe for fear of getting caught. He'd been persistent; almost annoyingly so. He gave up knocking after ten minutes, but I hadn't heard the crunch of the gravel under his tires until closer to two o'clock in the morning. And I hadn't managed to fall asleep for another two hours after that. Needless to say, when I had woken up, the sun had been setting in the sky and night was upon me again.

I had silently snuck down the stairs, and cursed when I hit the creak on the third stair from the landing only to find a note that had been slipped under my door.

_We need to talk._

It hadn't been signed, but the handwriting had been as familiar as my own.

I hadn't wanted to talk; I hadn't had an epiphany in the middle of the night, nor had I grown up in eight hours. I had still wanted to avoid all interaction with Bill Compton for the time being. I hadn't been able to imagine sitting down with him and rehashing my childish behavior, or worse yet, sitting down and telling him that he'd wasted the last two years of his life on a woman that could never truly love him. No, I had thought it best to avoid the situation entirely. And, unlike McFly, I had been able to admit that I was being a chicken. It had been the easy way out, I had known it. That hadn't meant that I was going to change my mind on it anytime soon.

It had been at that moment that I decided that maybe Amelia's offer wasn't such a bad idea. I've always thought running away was cheating. Well, screw that, cheating had sounded damned good to me at that moment. Escaping Bon Temps, and Bill Compton by association, had sounded like just the thing I needed to do. I had haphazardly packed a suitcase, filling it with endless amounts of sundresses and flip flops, and had found myself at my friend Tara's house by eight am the next day. The ticket I had purchased had been last minute – and let me tell you, flights to Honolulu were not cheap on a good day, much less with no more than twenty-four hours notice.

"What did Bill say?" Amelia asks, taking my carry-on off my shoulder and throwing it over hers.

"About what?" The jet lag and the lack of sleep I had gotten the night of the proposal are clearly wrecking havoc on my ability to think straight.

"About you leaving? Did he cry?"

Oh. That. "He… um," I start and avoid her gaze, "he didn't say anything."

"Figures. He couldn't even be bothered to try and stop you. I told you he was lame."

"He…well." This is awkward. Really awkward. "Well, he didn't know I left. Doesn't know I left," I correct. Yep, I'd done a runner.

Amelia's eyes are wide with shock, which quickly turns into something like delight. "You didn't tell him?" I shake my head. "My, my Sookie Stackhouse. You ran all the way to Hawaii and didn't let anyone know?"

"You know," I point out. "And so does Tara. Jason. And Sam, naturally." Telling Sam had been the hard part. He was a good boss – as good as they came really – and of the three, it is his opinion I value the most. He'd been supportive, well at least as supportive as your boss could be when you're telling him that oh by the way, you won't be showing up for work tonight, or ever again.

"Naturally," Amelia says, with a short nod. "And what did they say?"

"Tara didn't say much. Jason, well he's Jason. He wanted to know how come I got to go to Hawaii and he had to stay in Bon Temps, then asked me if he could have the food in the refrigerator. And Sam," I sigh. "Sam told me that he would do whatever I needed him to do."

Amelia scrutinizes my face and wrinkles her nose. "You should never have turned Sam down," she says. "He's about the only nice man you've ever dated."

"I wouldn't call going to dinner once dating exactly," I say with a shrug. I spot my bag on the carousel, one of the ubiquitous black bags on wheels, and excuse myself. It feels a heck of a lot heavier at the end of the trip than it had at the beginning. Even knowing how much it weighs (49.5 lbs, thank you very much United Airlines), it still feels cumbersome to lift over the lip of the carousel. I grunt with satisfaction as I right it and pull the handle up, wheeling it to where Amelia stands fiddling with her phone.

"What would you call it then?" she asks, looking up and slipping her precious blackberry into her bag.

"What?"

"You and Sam," she says, in a tone that makes me feel like I don't speak English. "If you weren't dating, what would you call it?"

"I can't believe you're still talking about this," I say, shaking my head. "It doesn't matter what Sam and I did, or didn't do as was the case. I didn't even kiss him."

She looks at me in silence for a minute before nodding to herself. "And you're in Hawaii. You're right. Who cares about Sam?"

"Not me." I had thrown him over for Bill anyway – yes, I am aware that I'm an idiot – so it isn't like he's the best candidate for a relationship. Not that I'm ready to be in a relationship any time soon after that last train wreck.

"Me either," she says, looping her arm through mine. My carry-on is still slung effortlessly over her shoulder as she steers me towards the automatic doors.

"What's the first thing you want to do?" she asks as the doors slide open and I am hit with a wave of warm, humid air. A chill shoots through my body as the last blast of air conditioning hits my back. The sky is incredibly blue – a different shade than I am used to seeing in Louisiana. The humidity is heavy, but not overbearing. It is the kind of day I used to relish back home. A day where the weather is perfect to put on a bikini and lay out on a lawn chair, though I suppose a beach would be more appropriate in Hawaii.

"I don't know," I say with a shrug, lowering my sunglasses onto my face. "Take a shower? Go to sleep?"

Amelia laughs and shakes her head. "There will be time for that. But come on, you're in Hawaii! Don't you want to do something a little more adventurous than take a shower?"

I grumble and shake my head in return. "I've been on an airplane and in airports for some ungodly amount of time. I smell, I'm tired, and all I want to do is take a shower."

"Fine," Amelia says with a chuckle. "We can go back to my place. You can take a shower there, and once you decide if you've left your grumpy pants on the mainland, we can figure out what to do."

We stop behind a small white convertible with a familiar talisman hanging from the rearview mirror.

"Oh my God, you still have that?" I ask, pointing to the stuffed cat that had been in every single one of Amelia's cars for as long as I'd known her.

She shrugs, popping the trunk open and lifting my suitcase in effortlessly. "It's good luck."

"You call five accidents that total your cars good luck?"

"He always makes it out," she says. "Just like I do." She climbs into the driver's seat and looks over at me. "Come on. Your adventure's just begun."

.

The drive to Amelia's house takes longer than I expect it to. I didn't think that there was enough road on an island to actually take forty minutes to get anywhere, though I suppose a large portion of the time was the way people drive here. I am used to everyone being in a hurry to get to their destination, going at least five miles over the posted speed limit and trying to one up each other in the lanes. It is nothing like that here. The speed limit is slower than in Louisiana, and people here take it as a guideline instead of as a rule. I can't count the number of cars we pass as we weave through the pineapple fields that dot the Hawaiian countryside.

I am a bit disappointed that we don't see much water on our drive – Amelia insists that we take the shorter route through the middle of the island since I am in such a rush to get a shower and a bed. "We can drive along the shore later," she tells me, and I am not about to argue with anything that will get me closer to a shower.

But the minute we crest the last hill and I see the blue water ahead of me, I wish I'd fought a bit more. There is something exhilarating about seeing the ocean for the first time, the way the waves crash violently against the sandy beach ahead.

"Where does that go?" I ask, pointing towards a road that most of the cars turn off on ahead of us.

"That's the turn off to Haleiwa," she says, the word sounding like something I'm never going to be able to pronounce in a million years. "It's kind of a tourist town. Lots of surf shops and shaved ice stands. The locals kind of stay away from it in high season."

"Oh," I say, looking at the string of cars as they disappeared on the horizon. "Where do the locals go then?"

"Mostly we go to the beach."

I laugh and look over at her, the long blonde strands of my hair whip around me haphazardly. "And you consider yourself a local?"

"Sure. Well, as local as an outsider can be."

I turn my attention back to the glimpses of blue water I see between the houses that line the shore. It is a busy day for a Tuesday in the middle of January, or so it seems. Then again, it's not like I can claim to be an expert on the habits of an island I landed on not ninety minutes ago.

Amelia turns onto a quiet road towards the shore, pulling through a large wrought iron gate that blocks the public from the upscale property below. My breath hitches as she pulls into a driveway of a large yellow house that sits right on the beach.

"Here we are," she says, hopping out of the car and grabbing my bag out of the trunk.

My exit of the car is far slower, and less graceful as my eyes latching onto the white sand and blue water beyond. The beach is less crowded than I imagined based on all the cars I had seen, though when I walk closer and see just how long the beach is, I am not too surprised. There would have to be tens of thousands of people here to make a beach this long look crowded.

I stop at the edge of the cement driveway, watching the beachgoers in a daze. They all seem so relaxed, enjoying the rays of the afternoon sun as they beat down and warmed the earth.

"Wow," I say breathlessly as I feel Amelia come to a halt beside me.

"I know, right?" she responds, with a sigh. "I don't think I'm ever going to want to leave here."

I can't blame her. With some reluctance, I allow her to drag me away from the scenery in front of me and through the back door of her house. It is like leaving one world and entering another. The easy, natural scenery outside is a stark contrast to the interior of the house. It is like something you'd see in Architectural Digest, all hard angles and open spaces. The entire back wall is glass, the ocean a perfect backdrop to the modern interior.

"Geez," I say, looking around me in awe, "you certainly know how to live Miss Carmichael."

She leads me on a tour, stopping at the doorway of what will be my room for as long as I stay here.

"And here's your room," she says, opening the door with a flourish and urging me inside. The room is large, though not overly so, and completely dominated by a canopied bed that looks like it belongs in a movie. The mountains of pillows are covered in crisp white cotton, the same color as the sheer curtains that are flapping in the wind that is coming in from the open balcony.

I look over my shoulder at Amelia, who is wheeling my suitcase towards the closet. "I can't even imagine what your room looks like," I say incredulously, fingering the edge of a pillowcase. It looks so inviting, like something I could fall into for days and never want to leave.

"I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunity," she says, walking over and opening a door. "But you just settle yourself in first. Here's your bathroom – everything you need should be in there, and I laid out a robe and some bath slippers for you to use." I shake my head and laugh. "What?" she asks. "You don't spend four years working in hotels without picking up some of the tricks."

She walks back towards me and wraps her arms around me in a hug. "It is really good to see you Sookie," she says. "It's been far too long. I was beginning to think I didn't know you anymore."

I push free from her embrace and sigh. "I don't know that I know myself anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," I say, walking over to the glass doors of the balcony. God, I sound annoying; like a fourteen year old girl that's crying over the fact that she will never meet Justin Bieber. Too bad that's not my problem. I would take a painful crush on the Biebs over this sense of listlessness any day.

"Don't you 'nothing' me Sookie Stackhouse. You don't say something like that and mean nothing by it."

I cross my arms over my chest and take a deep breath. "It's just," I start, looking over at her nervously. "It's just that something switched in me that night. The night Bill asked me to marry him."

She doesn't say anything, though her eyes encourage me to continue.

"I've always been Sookie Stackhouse, the good girl who does what is expected of her. I've always been reliable, the one everyone goes to for help. And sitting across from Bill, with that little red box on the table-"

"Was the ring big?" Amelia interrupts. "You didn't tell me anything about the ring."

"Amelia!" I squeal. Honestly, I don't know what the ring looked like at all, since I hadn't had the balls to even open the box.

"Fine," she says, rolling her eyes. "Excuse me for wanting to know the details. Go on." She waves her hand in a rolling motion.

"It sounds ridiculous."

"No, it doesn't. Continue."

"I don't know." I lean against the wall, the perfect picture of teen angst. "I just felt like saying yes was the right thing to do, but the last thing I wanted. I don't want to be the girl that everyone expects me to be anymore."

"So don't," she says.

"Don't what?"

"Don't be what you think everyone wants you to be."

"It's not that easy," I say, shaking my head.

"Why not? No one knows you here. No one has any preconceived notions about you, except for me, and you know that I've always thought there was someone infinitely more interesting bubbling just beneath the surface."

"Ouch." Amelia certainly isn't one to mince words.

"Oh hush. You know I love you. You're practically like a sister. But you can't exactly call the last four and a half years of your life very interesting. First, you devoted your life to that idiot Quinn, and Bill? Hell, the only thing interesting about that relationship was how you ended it."

"I…" I start, then let out a resigned laugh. "No. You're right. I haven't exactly been a model of adventure."

She walks over and takes my hands in hers. "It's time to become the woman you always wanted to be, Sookie. The woman who does what she wants and doesn't give a damn about the consequences."

"I don't know if I can," I say, looking down at our clasped hands. I want to be. God knows I want to be, but it is a lot easier on paper than in practice.

"Of course you can," she says, patting my hand. "There's nothing more liberating than moving to a new place. You can recreate yourself to be whoever you want to be."

I just have to figure out who that is.

**

* * *

AN:** Don't worry... you don't have to wait much longer. A certain blond surfer does make his appearance next chapter. Stay tuned!


	3. Chapter 3: Impact Zone

**~~Chapter 3: Impact Zone~~**

I am woken up the next morning by an annoyingly chirpy Amelia. It's always been like this between us – me resembling the Frankenstein monster before nine am, and Amelia going a million miles an hour as soon as the clock hit seven.

"What are you doing?" I groan and shut my eyes against the bright light that is streaming through the large window.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" she chirps brightly as she bounces onto my bed. "Time to wake up and face the day."

I don't want to get up. I think I have reverse jetlag; or lifelag might be a bit closer to the fact. If I can just sleep a little bit longer, everything is going to be okay. I roll over and bury my face in my pillow, pushing Amelia away from me with a half hearted shove.

"Come on," she says and unceremoniously pulls the pillow out from underneath me. "I've been up for hours, and I've got to go into work in a bit. You can't laze about all day."

"Why not?" I groan and sit up to rub the sleep out of my eyes. "It's not like I've got anything to do anyway."

She gives me a disapproving look; the kind of look I haven't been on the receiving end of since Gran passed. "Oh hush. You've got your entire life to plan."

I track her as she rounds the end of the bed and picks up something that looks suspiciously like a cup of coffee. Hmm, maybe waking up isn't such a bad idea if coffee is involved. She sits back down on the bed and holds it just out of my reach.

I make a grab for it, and she pulls it even further away. That taunting bitch.

"Nuh-uh. No coffee until you agree to do something for me."

"What?" I want coffee. I will do anything for coffee. Well, almost anything. "That's blackmail!"

"Yes," she smirks, "yes it is. You certainly are sharper than you look."

"Amelia!" I contemplate how exactly I can wrestle the cup out of her hand without spilling any of its precious contents.

"It's not much," she assures me. "I just want you to make a list for me."

"A list?" I ask and sit back against the headboard. Knowing Amelia, it's going to be awhile before I can drink the sweet nectar inside the cup, and I need to conserve all the energy I can. "Of what? Ways to murder your best friend?"

"Nope. Nothing quite as licentious as that. It's simple. I want you to make a list of things that Old Sookie would never do, but New Sookie will."

It sounds like some new age psychobabble that I'm sure she heard from one in her long line of therapists, which of course means she's taken it as gospel. I mean, sure, I have my 'to-do' list, who doesn't? But the thought of sitting down and writing it out for Amelia's perusal seems a bit ridiculous. I decide playing dumb is the best idea.

"What do you mean?"

"It's a list Sookie," she says and shakes her head. "It's your list; the list you always go on and on about and never do anything on. Well, I suppose moving to Hawaii kind of fulfills that travel thing, but let's not count that."

"Why not?" I ask, and sound whiny even to myself.

"Because you've already done that obviously. Just come up with ten things and actually do them."

"Ten? I can't even come up with ten things I do on a daily basis. How in the hell am I supposed to come up with ten things I don't do?"

"Fine," she rolls her eyes. "Five then. I don't care how many, just make the damn list and keep me happy. It can be stupid; you can throw it out as soon as it's done for all I care. Just humor me?"

"It's pointless."

"That's arguable," she points out. "You're the one who just ran away from your life because you were afraid of getting complacent. We wouldn't want you getting complacent before you even get settled, would we?"

"How is that even possible?" I ask. "It's not going to change anything just because I write something down on a piece of paper." Mainly because I have no idea what to put on there. You would think that moving halfway around the world would be enough of a step for now. Apparently not.

"Do it Stackhouse." She holds the coffee within my reach. My fingers wrap around the mug and the aroma wafts and swirls around my face. Hell, I'll agree to anything right now if I can just take a sip.

"Fine."

"Excellent!" She releases her grip on the coffee mug and I groan when the liquid touches my lips. Yes, it is definitely worth writing some stupid list. I look up in time to see her pick up a notebook from the nightstand. "I've already started it for you."

"What?" I just sort of stare at her unblinkingly for a minute. As much as I don't want to write it myself, I'm a little irked that she's attempting to micro manage my evolution. I mean, it is because of people managing my life that I ended up like this in the first place. "You started my list of evolution? Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of the exercise?"

"I've been told I'm overbearing."

"Not surprising," I grumble, and take a second sip of coffee. "What did you put on there?"

"It's for your own good," she says and pats the cover of the spiral notebook in her hands. "You don't have to count it as one of your ten-"

"Five!"

"Five. Whatever. You don't have to count it, but you absolutely must stick to it."

"What is it, Amelia?"

"Read it for yourself." She tosses the notebook onto the bed next to me and takes a step back. "I've got to head off to work. Coffee's on in the kitchen. Call if you need anything."

She is gone before I can even say anything, much less conjure up the right words to say. It's probably better anyway. God only knows what she's written down in there for me, and I'd much rather read it when she's not lording over me.

I look over at the red square of the notebook sitting in stark contrast to the white bedding beneath it. If it could speak, it would be giving me an old "nanner nanner nanner" and sticking its tongue out at me. I don't take my eyes off of it as I finish my cup of coffee, and barely even break eye contact as I climb out of bed.

"I'm not opening you," I say to the book. "I don't care what you say."

So, okay, that's not technically true, but saying it aloud helps convince me to head towards the bathroom. A long, hot shower is just what I need to get myself going. After the shower, I will get Amelia's mission out of the way and then figure out what I want to do for the rest of the day. Five things should be easy.

Wrong.

One hot shower and a whole lot of fiddle faddling to get ready later, and I still have no idea what I want to put down on that list. Everything I think of seems too far fetched, or far too easy to justify actually writing it down. I mentally recite the list I'd created – all thirty-six to-dos – and nothing seems appropriate. Yes those are all things that old Sookie wouldn't do, but they aren't things I think I can actually accomplish, and if there is one thing in the world I hate, it's failure.

The book taunts me as I stalk around the room, surreptitiously avoiding looking at it as I get dressed. I make the bed around it and give a triumphant laugh when I pull the duvet and it goes tumbling to the floor. But even out of sight, I can't forget that it is lying there awaiting my response.

"I'm going crazy," I say to thin air. "Bat shit crazy."

I try to distract myself by going outside and working on my tan. Surprisingly, it doesn't work. Even the bright Oahu sun can't make me forget that little red book sitting next to my bed.

"Fine," I groan. "I'll do it." I shove off of the lounge chair and head back inside. Amelia's cat Bob is sitting next to the book, and looks up at me with eyes that are a little too knowledgeable for comfort. I sneer in his direction and grab the book with unnecessary roughness before heading back to the table on the balcony outside my room.

I sit there, staring at the red cover for too long before I decide that it will be a hell of a lot less painful if I get it over with. I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I open the cover to the first page. Amelia's familiar, neat handwriting is sprawled in large letters across the page:

_1. DO NOT__, under any circumstances, seriously date anyone for two months _

And underneath, in smaller letters:

_1a. DO__, however, feel free to have as much sex as you'd like_

I can't help myself from laughing. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't something like that. The first bit should be easy to accomplish. I am not really in the mindset to hop into another relationship, though being on an island with men I will never see again doesn't exactly lead me down the relationship path in the first place.

As for the second command? I highly doubt that will happen. For as much as I want to be the girl that has a string of broken hearts, I am not the kind of girl who will eagerly hop into some stranger's bed and leave the next morning. No, it is better if I do not have any sort of romantic interaction with men any time soon. It has been far too long since I've been single for any length of time, and if I am really going to try to rediscover myself, the last thing I need is to bring a man into the situation.

I lean back in my chair, my eyes wandering out to the beach beyond the low wall of the balcony. The beach is already crowded, scattered along the endless stretch of white sand. They look so serene, so peaceful as they soak up the sun, and I decide that I can do my thinking on the beach just as easily as I can on Amelia's balcony, not to mention that my legs have turned a ghastly shade of white and could use a soak in the sun.

Yes, I know sun tanning is bad for me. I have been told a thousand times in my life that sunbathing will more than likely give me skin cancer, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. I haven't had the chance to lie out in ages – Bill had always told me that being outside in my bikini was scandalous. Maybe that was something to put on my list – get tan again. Amelia will probably make me cross that off though. The old Sookie, the one she knew, wouldn't bat an eye at having a tan. It had been my only vice, and now I don't have much of anything. I rarely drink, have never touched a cigarette to my lips and beyond one experimental episode in college, I haven't been within ten feet of illegal substances. Yes, tanning isn't so bad, all things considered.

I hurriedly change into my favorite bikini and flip flops and find my way down to the beach; Amelia's raffia mat and an oversized beach towel in hand. I take off my shoes the minute my feet leave the pavement, relishing the feel of the hot sand as my feet sunk into its depths. I have never been to a beach like this, where the sand seems to go on forever with no bottom. The beaches I have been to were mostly around lakes, the sand wet and prickly and not something that was probably too safe to keep your feet in for very long.

I walk past the crowded areas until I find a more isolated stretch of beach and set up camp. There are three quiet girls close to the water's edge – or as close as you can get before you hit the DANGER signs. Amelia had warned me that the water got pretty violent on this stretch of beach, and the signs just furthered my conviction that it is in my best interest to stay far away. But, even if I don't want to go in it, I can appreciate the beauty of the waves from afar.

Though this is my first time on this particular beach, even I have heard about the infamous pipeline. That being said, hearing about it and seeing it are two different matters. I never imagined the waves to be so big, so violent as they crash against the shore. You'd have to be a freaking idiot to go out in water like that, but it appears that there are quite a few idiots on the beach that day, and all of them have a surfboard strapped to their ankle.

I sit cross-legged as I watch the men and women bobbing about in the water, waiting for their chance to master the next big wave. Surfing isn't something I would dream of doing in a million years – far too dangerous for someone that is a passable swimmer at the very best – but there is something ethereal about watching as one of the small heads in the distance stands on top of their board and masters the wave. And, when that head finally rides into the shore, the look of triumph on their face is like nothing else I have ever seen.

They all make it seem so effortless, placing themselves in danger and taking a chance on the outcome. Some have more success than others, but every last one of them I see leave the water looked satisfied with themselves.

I flop back onto the towel beneath me, closing my eyes as I try to remember the last time I felt truly satisfied with myself. Oh sure, I can't say I am exactly dissatisfied with my life. I have my friends, my family; I'm in Hawaii. I should be happy. But I'm not. How can I possibly be happy when I've spent the last five years of my life living as someone else?

Quinn and Bill certainly hadn't brought me happiness; Bill because I'd allowed myself to give up on my dreams, and Quinn because I'd been so close and had chosen the wrong adventure.

I let out a resigned sigh, cursing myself for allowing my life to reach this point. How had I let myself fall into the same trap as so many before me? Changing my life, changing what I wanted to do, because a man waltzed into my life? I am not a remnant of the 1950s. I do not think life starts and ends with a man, though my actions for the past four or five years cast a serious shadow of doubt on that assertion. Truth be told, I am angry with myself for letting it go as far as it did.

Something crosses over me, casting a cool shadow where the sun was beating down on my skin and sending a shiver down my body. When it doesn't move immediately, I crack my eyes open to see what has caused it and frown.

Someone, a rather hidden someone, has decided that planting their oversized surf board right next to me and blocking the sun is a good idea. I silently count to ten, trying to control the rage that is boiling up inside of me. I am angry at myself mostly, angry that I have wasted so many years of my life and find myself floundering at the age of twenty-seven, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to take it out on the person who has interrupted the one thing I know I enjoy.

I sit up, pushing my sunglasses back off my head and look at the perpendicular board that is blocking the person on the other side from my view.

"Excuse me," I say, forcing myself to sound as polite as possible. No response. "Excuse me," I repeat, knocking on the surf board to get their attention.

I see the edge of a wetsuit come into view briefly, pushed down around the waist of the person on the other side. When the owner of said wetsuit still doesn't respond, I push myself up angrily and stalk around the barrier. "Listen," I say, "I tried to be polite, but-" I gasp when my eyes see the owner of the surf board. He is tall, incredibly so, and every inch of his very uncovered and very attractive body is dripping wet with water, from the bottom of his feet up to the top of his blond hair, which is a bit too long for convention.

"Oh," I gasp, my eyes locking onto his. They are as blue as the water behind him, orbs that I feel like I might drown in if that is possible, which it isn't, I remind myself. "Hello," I say, sounding hopelessly out of breath.

"Hello," he returns, with a crooked smile as his eyes peruse the length of my body, stopping at the red triangles that cover my chest as his smile widens. "What can I do for you?" his eyes make the journey up to meet mine again, and he rakes a hand through his wet hair, ringing out the excess water.

"You, um…" my mouth feels like the Sahara Desert, or like I've shoved a handful of cotton balls down my throat. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, his eyes dipping down to watch as I do so.

_Shit_. There is no need for me to act like an absolute imbecile just because I happen to be facing a man that is unimaginably good looking.

"You, um, what?" he ask with a smirk – a smirk, mind you, that makes me feel a little bit lightheaded. This isn't a good sign for my swearing off of men rule. I force myself to ignore how attractive he is, and hope that a polite request will be met with no resistance.

"You," I stammer. "You've blocked my sun. Could you please move?"

He chuckles, the deep noise sending a delicious shiver down my spine. "I didn't realize the sun belonged to you," he responds with a shrug.

"It doesn't!" I say exasperatedly. Of course this guy isn't going to easily acquiesce to my request; someone that looks like him is probably used to getting whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. Hell, he's probably just like my brother Jason, who though I love dearly, always pisses me off when he uses his charm to get out of everything.

"Then I fail to see the problem."

I have a valid argument; there were miles of empty beach around me. He didn't have to pick the exact spot that would inconvenience me. I have every right to ask him to move.

"The problem," I say, my confidence reinforced after my internal comparison to Jason, "is that I was lying here, minding my own business, and you had to pick this exact spot," I point, "to plant your surf board? In the one spot that would block the sun from me?"

He smiles, shaking his head down at me. "Last I checked, it was a public beach."

"There are miles of beach!" I wave my arms, indicating the space around me. "Miles of beach that are empty, and you had to pick the one spot right next to me?"

"What can I say?" he asks with a shrug. "Seemed like a spot that had the best view." His eyes dart down to the front of my bikini again, and I feel my traitorous body flush under his assessing gaze.

"Does that really work for you?" I ask.

"Does what really work for me?" he replies, with a smirk that liquefies my kneecaps.

_Pull it together Sookie!_ So he is attractive (extremely attractive at that); big deal. It doesn't mean the rules of common decency get thrown out the window…right? It doesn't make it okay that he is looking at me as if I was a prized heifer at the State Fair.

I clear my throat, and place my fisted hands on my hips as I force myself to look him in the eye. "Do many females respond well to these twelve year old antics when you're trying to pick them up?"

He laughs, tossing his head and his shaggy blond hair back before responding. "Who said I was trying to pick you up?" he asks with a quirked brow.

"Oh please," I groan, for once channeling my inner feminist. "You've barely raised your eyes above my shoulders. I think I know when I'm being picked up."

"What can I say?" he shrugs, reaching down and pushing the edges of the wetsuit down his hips. "I have an appreciation for all things beautiful."

"Wow," I say, shaking my head and turning back to hastily throw my belongings into my beach bag. I need to get out of here, and quickly. I don't know how to deal with men like this; men who look like they'd like to eat you for dinner.

"I hear that a lot," he says from behind me.

I whirl around, dropping the towel I had picked up. "Hear what a lot?"

"Wow," he says with a smirk.

I turn back and stuff the towel into my bag without giving him a response.

"Are you leaving so soon?" he asks. "Here I thought we could get to be real good friends."

"Sorry, I'm fresh out of friend applications," I say, proud of a response at all, much less something bordering on humor.

"Hmm, I guess if we can't be friends, we have to be something else then, eh?" His eyes once again dart across my bare stomach; the same stomach where a thousand butterflies are slamming into each other. No, I definitely do not know how to behave around men like this at all; best to get out of here quickly.

"Not with you," I say, barely above a whisper, though it is apparently loud enough for him to hear.

"Oh no," he says, mockingly. "And here I was thinking how sweet you were."

"Not especially," I mumble.

"What's that?"

"I said," raising my voice meeting his. "I'm not especially sweet."

"Is that so? I never would have guessed from the look of you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, forgetting my plan to get out of Dodge momentarily.

He smirks. "Just what it sounds like. You look sweet."

I feel myself blush again – though whether it is from his compliment, or the fact that he is undressing in front of me, I can't tell you. When his thumbs hook under the wetsuit below his hip bones, I turn away.

_You will not look Sookie Stackhouse!_ I command myself. As tempting as it is to see what he's got under that wetsuit, I am not about to give him the pleasure of watching.

"You can look back now," he says, his voice irritatingly mirthful. "I promise I'm decent."

"I couldn't care less if you're decent," I say (total lie), turning back to face him. I hope that my blush has gone down, or at least can be chalked up to sunburn if nothing else.

He makes a non-committal noise and resumes his seat on the towel he's spread out.

"So, now that we've established that I think you're beautiful and sweet, and that you're out of friend applications, what do you say you agree to come to dinner at my place tonight? We can skip the friend part entirely. I'm quite skilled in the kitchen, or so I'm told."

The look in his eyes tells me that he isn't just talking about making food. I shut my eyes, shaking my head. I never imagined in a million years that I would find myself propositioned by a handsome stranger less than a week after turning down Bill's proposal.

"No," I manage to croak out.

"What's that?" he asks. I open my eyes and meet his twinkling blue ones.

"No," I repeat, a bit louder. "No thank you."

"Are you busy?" he asks with a frown, and sits up straight. Clearly this man is used to women tripping over themselves for a chance to date him. And believe me, at a different point in my life, when I haven't just decided that men are the last thing I need, I'm sure I would've been right in line with the rest of them.

"Not particularly," I say.

"But you won't come to dinner?" he asks slowly, as if he was processing a foreign concept.

"No," I say. I've got to admit, I love the fact that he appears to be completely confused by my denial. It only reinforces my confidence.

"Boyfriend?"

"Nope."

He is quiet for a moment, before a light comes into his eyes. "Girlfriend?" he asks with a smirk.

I groan and shut my eyes before they fly out of my head. "Why would you jump to that conclusion?" I ask, incredibly annoyed at him and at myself. Why am I even standing here talking to this man? Why didn't I leave three minutes ago? Everything is packed. Why can't I just pick up my stuff and move somewhere else, somewhere far away where he can't crawl under my skin?

He smiles at me – the most innocent smile on top of a body that defies innocence – and raises his shoulders in an elaborate shrug. "There's got to be some reason you're turning me down."

"I don't know you," I say. "And, I'm not exactly sure that I like what I do know. Have you thought about that?"

His grin widens, turning decidedly more seductive. "I think you like me quite well."

"In your dreams," I scoff.

"In my dreams you're not wearing that red bikini," he says, nodding towards me. "No matter how tiny it is."

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaim, forcing myself to keep my hands at my side and not to cover the skin his eyes are burning into on my chest.

"Oh, and a blasphemer?" he teases. "My, my, maybe you are right. Maybe you're not as sweet as I thought." He tilts his head to the side, a contemplative look crossing his face. "Though you still look like you'd taste like sugar to me."

I feel myself blush. Again. Apparently my body doesn't understand my brain's annoyance at his continued teasing. If only I could be more like Amelia; she'd know what to say in this kind of situation. But I am nothing like Amelia. I am still Sookie Stackhouse who gets flustered when a handsome man talks to her; Sookie Stackhouse who has taken to running away from problems.

"I've got to go," I say, picking up my bag and throwing it over my shoulder.

"Don't," he says; just one word.

"Don't what?" I ask, turning back to face him against my better judgment.

"Don't leave on my account. I'll move." He stands up and rests a hand on his surfboard. "I hadn't thought this," he waves his hand between us, "would go that poorly. I'm generally considered charming. Well, more charming at least."

I'm not sure that is even possible. Despite thinking he is a bit of a jerk, I am still tempted to stick around and try to shove my tongue down his throat. There is something that draws me to him, tempting me to throw all caution to the wind and see where this goes. But I know that it will only lead to trouble, and it is best to get as far away from trouble as possible.

"It's not that," I say, looking down at my feet, willing them to move. It is _exactly_ that. I have no idea why I am back peddling. Okay, maybe I do, but I refuse to let my libido take control of the situation. "I can't…"I trail off.

"Can't what?" he asks. My eyes snap up to meet his at the sound of his voice, the gentle tone I haven't heard before.

"Stay," I say, shaking my head. "I've… I've got to go."

And by some force of willpower, I manage to begin walking away. I can almost feel his eyes boring into my back as I move, hindered by the deep white sand beneath my feet.

"I hope to see you around," I hear him say, though I don't turn around to see if he means it or not. It doesn't matter; I won't be seeing him again. Best to return to the safe confines of Amelia's lanai.

Clearly I am not ready to venture back into the world.

* * *

**AN: **So there you have it – the introduction of Surfer Eric. You didn't really think I'd make it an easy road for them, did you? ;D

Thanks to all for reading, reviewing, alerting, etc. I am always amazed that anyone reads my babbling! And a giant whopping thanks sandwich to pfloogs72 for being the Surfer's guiding light. She is, as they say, may-jah!


	4. Chapter 4: Shooting the Curl

**~Chapter 4: Shooting the Curl~**

"Alright!" Amelia says, blinding me with the morning light as she pulls the drapes back in my bedroom. "Up and at 'em!"

I sit up with a start, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and groaning as I see the time on the alarm clock – 6:45. In the morning.

"What?" I ask, stretching my arms to the ceiling as I yawn. "What is so urgent that you have to wake me up at this godforsaken hour?" I flop back against my pillows, covering my eyes with my arm.

"Nuh-uh, Sookie Stackhouse," Amelia's voice says, the sound traveling closer to my bed. "No more of this moping and lazing about anymore." She grabs my hand and pulls me to an upright position.

"I'm not 'moping' and 'lazing'," I say defiantly, crossing my arms over my chest.

She rolls her eyes and sits down on the bed. "Well, whatever you want to call it, you haven't even left the house in a week. You are in freaking Hawaii and you haven't even gone beyond the lanai."

"That's not true," I say petulantly. "I went to the beach."

"Once!" she says, throwing her hands up in the air. "I thought you might need some time to adjust and discover yourself, but this agoraphobic phase is driving me crazy. Trust me, this is for the both of us." She throws the covers back and waggles her eyebrows when she sees the tiny boyshorts I am wearing as my pajamas. "My my Miss Stackhouse," she says, slapping my thigh. "You sure don't want to waste yourself hanging with Bob over there. Don't you think it's about time you got back out into the world?"

I groan and swing my legs over the side of the bed, padding across the plush carpet to pick up the robe I had discarded last night. I haven't been hiding out from the world. Well, not entirely.

So I spent the last week surreptitiously avoiding the beach beyond Amelia's lanai? And maybe I was bored of spending my days in the company of Bob; but I had left the house. Yes, it was always at night, and yes it had always been with Amelia, but I was in a new place and didn't know anyone; is it really that surprising? I did venture out once by myself, and well, that hadn't done anything other than convince me that the locals were dangerous to my forward trajectory. Best to avoid them entirely.

Maybe I'm a coward for avoiding the beach entirely because of one ridiculously good looking (I am not blind), yet completely unsettling man on an island full of tourists, but in my new life plan evasion is my best friend. Much better to stay away than face running into him and tripping over my tongue again. Or worse.

Not that it mattered. Of course it didn't matter. If said Surfer (who, in my endless alone time – despite trying not to think of him - I had decided was definitely named Leif, and hailed from an exotic locale like Bora Bora. What? I'm sure there were men named Leif in Bora Bora – or okay, maybe not Bora Bora, but at least somewhere more exotic than Bon Temps, Louisiana; not that it mattered where he was from, since I positively did not want to see the man ever again, nor would I likely ever see him again if I ever changed my mind on that front) as I was saying: If said Surfer (Leif) happened to be on the beach when I was, I could surely avoid him. It wasn't like he'd probably be too keen to talk to me after I'd run off; and he had been willing to move away after al.

"Don't you have to work today?" I ask, turning back to face Amelia as I secure the belt in a knot around my waist.

"Yep," she says with a nod. "And so do you."

"What?" I shriek.

"Work," she says simply. "Remember how we talked about you coming and working for me?"

I nod slowly, curling my legs underneath me as I sit on an oversized chair. "Vaguely."

"Well, it's not vague anymore. Dawn walked out on us last night and we're down a concierge. I had thought maybe you'd want a little more time to vacation, but since you've decided to use all your down time to go all John Nash on me, I picked your path for you."

"Gee, thanks," I grumble.

"It's for the best. Really," she says perkily, jumping off the bed and walking over to the closet.

"Amelia! I cannot step into a job where I haven't been trained. I don't know anything about the property. Hell, I haven't even worked at a hotel in three years. You expect me to just step in and wave my magic wand?"

"Yep," she says, turning around and holding out a white sundress. "Go take a shower, and put this on. We'll have to get you one of the uniforms, but this will do for now."

She drapes the dress across a chair and pushes me towards the bathroom. "We've got an hour until we have to leave."

And that's how I ended up standing behind an expanse of polished wood as Amelia gives me instructions for my first day as a concierge at the Grand Ho`olaule`a.

I meet two women I will be working with – one named Claudine, and besides looking like a freaking supermodel, happens to be about the nicest person I have ever met; the one named Arlene looks at me like I am a pair of Jessica Simpson's mom jeans. There are certain women that you just never have a chance of winning over. No matter how nice you are, or how non-threatening you try to be, they won't like you. Arlene is one of those women.

"So Sookie," Claudine says, leaning her elbows on the counter next to me after Amelia and Arlene have gone to Amelia's office. "What brings you to Hawaii?"

"Oh," I say and bite my lip. I have spent hours trying to figure out what exactly I should tell people that ask me that question. I haven't been able to come up with an answer. "Well, I just broke up with my boyfriend." Best to stick with something resembling the truth.

She whistles underneath her breath and shakes her head. "Must've been something terrible if you had to fly all the way to Hawaii to get away from him. You catch him in bed with another woman?"

"What?" I ask with a laugh. "No. Nothing like that." I can't imagine Bill in bed with anyone else, with or without me in his life.

"Then what?" she asks, all wide eyed innocence. How a woman could look so virginal and sexual at the same time is completely beyond me. "Come on," she looks around, "it's just us girls."

"Nothing," I say with a shrug, hoping I sounded as casual as I mean to. "Honestly. We had been together for a long time. I needed some time away."

She scrutinizes my face, her own beautiful features turning down in an exaggerated frown. "I don't believe you for one second. But I suppose we did just meet. My brother is always telling me that I'm too nosy. I guess I just need to bide my time."

"Brother?" I ask, trying not to drool at the thought of what a male version of Claudine must look like. Some people just have good genetics. It's like all those Jolie-Pitt offspring; there is no way in hell they are going to be less than stunning…unless, of course, they are standing next to Claudine and her yet-to-be-seen brother.

"Yep," she says with a smirk. "Twin brother." She reaches across me and pulls a small book out from its hiding place behind the counter. After flipping through a few pages, she turns the book towards me, revealing a picture of the her with the best looking man I have ever seen anywhere, and that was saying something since I'd seen that blond surfer God on the beach not that long ago. He looks like the kind of guy that could be on the cover of one of those trashy romance novels that I occasionally read when I have nothing better to do.

"Wow," I say, doing whatever I can to keep my tongue in my mouth. It wouldn't do to drool over your co-worker's brother on your first day, would it?

She shakes her head, emitting a perfect chuckle. "Gorgeous isn't he?"

I nod, not sure that I can form a coherent sentence with that picture in front of me.

"Well," she continues, snapping the book shut, "he's a right pain in the ass, he is."

"I'm sure I wouldn't mind," I say, startling myself when I realize it was said aloud.

"Oh you would alright," she says, with a smirk. "He may be good looking, but that only takes you so far. Plus, well…" she trails off, "let's just say he doesn't bat for your team."

"Oh," I respond, cocking my hip to lean against the counter. "Oh!" I repeat, realizing what she meant. "Go figure."

Claudine just laughs and begins straightening out the files in front of her. "Are you in the market?" she asks, looking over her shoulder at me.

"What? Me?" I shake my head vehemently. "Not at all. I've rather sworn off boyfriends for awhile."

"Who said anything about boyfriends?" she asks with a chuckle. "Nothing wrong with going out and having a good time without worrying about _actually_ dating someone."

"You sound just like Amelia. She's always nattering on about how I need to go on dates and _not _have a boyfriend." I cringe as I recall the last time I'd tried to do that, right after I broke up with Quinn. It had lasted all of two minutes, and then I'd hopped straight into Relationshipville with Bill. And I certainly knew that I hadn't handled that in the best manner.

I feel sick to my stomach every time I think about Bill and how I'd left him hanging; heck, how I had to put thousands of miles between us without even letting him know I was leaving. I had known it was a terrible thing to do, running off like that, but I hadn't been able to help myself. Now, and in the many hours I've spent alone in the past week, I realize exactly what a bitch move that had been. I would be absolutely devastated if he had done the same to me. And I know that no matter how difficult the conversation is going to be, I owe it to Bill to at least let him know. Because how in the world am I ever going to move on if I've got that hanging around my neck?

I resolve to take care of it, and soon.

"She's right," Claudine says with a nod. "Look, you're young and single and in Hawaii. There isn't a better time or place to have some fun – some no-strings-attached fun that is."

"I, uh, don't really think I'm a no-strings-attached kind of girl," I say, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. Even if I'm ready to explore another side to me, I can't imagine making that big of an about face in regards to sex. "Never really have been."

"Then there's no time like the present!" she says, fully turning to face me. "Look at you – you're gorgeous. I know heaps of men that would trip over their feet to have a chance to go on a date with you."

I feel the heat rise up above the neckline of my dress; I have never really been good at taking compliments. I never know what to say in response. "I don't know about that."

"Well, I do," she insists. Then, almost as if a light bulb has gone off over her head, she smiles widely. "Did Amelia tell you about the party tonight?"

"What party?" I ask. Amelia had mentioned something vague about going to dinner with some friends tonight, but I am certain she hadn't used the word 'party'.

Claudine squeals with excitement as she takes my hands in hers. "Pam's party," she says, as if that meant something to me. "Oh, it's the biggest event of the season. Huge bonfire on the beach, outdoor barbeque. All the employees go."

"Who's Pam?" I ask.

"The owner's daughter," Claudine answered. "Her brother is one of the surf instructors here – Eric, did you meet him?"

I frown as I try to recall all the people Amelia had introduced me to, and shake my head.

"Oh, well not a big deal," Claudine says. "I'm sure you'll meet him tonight. But let me warn you, Eric Northman is a GPD. You might want to stay away from that until you've had a bit more practice being a woman on the prowl."

"What's a GPD?" I ask, ignoring the latter half of her sentence. I doubt I will ever be considered a woman on the prowl.

"Guaranteed Panty Dropper," Claudine says with a bright smile. "He's absolutely gorgeous. All the girls here are mad for him, and men too. Claude practically faints every time I mention Eric's name."

"Your brother Claude? "

"Yep," she nods, "and you'll understand once you see him. Tall, blond, rich and gorgeous. No one can really resist him; even I get a little dreamy when he's around. He can – and does – have his pick of women – locals and tourists alike. He's a total ladies man."

"Sounds like a real charmer," I say. I know his type, the guy who can wink and smile and get whatever he wants. There are few things I dislike more than men who use their good looks and charm to get by in life. I have a brother who does that, and I'd seen exactly what it did to the women that followed them around.

"Oh he is alright," she says, letting out a wistful sigh. "But like I say, you're not ready to get tangled up with him quite yet if you're still getting over your boyfriend. Plenty of other fish in the sea to practice on before you cast your net towards anyone like Eric."

"I'm sure I could resist him," I say. I had, after all, resisted Surfer Leif without a problem (okay only a slight problem, but it was all internal and I had been all muddled up about the Bill situation still).

Claudine chuckles and shakes her head, though thankfully changed the subject. Kind of. "In fact!" she says, her eyes lighting up. "I have just the man to practice on. Good looking, smart, nice guy."

"I don't-"

"No!" she interrupts. "It's perfect. He just broke up with his girlfriend too. He won't be looking for anything serious. I'll bring him over to Amelia's tonight before we leave."

"Claudine, I-"

"I won't take no for an answer Sookie," she says patronizingly. "I am very used to getting what I want."

I am sure she is, looking the way she does.

I can't imagine going on a date with a stranger, and certainly not so close to my break up with Bill. And, as ridiculous as it sounds, I almost feel like going on a date with a stranger without even finally breaking things off with Bill would be dishonest.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I say.

"Of course it is." She dismisses my protests like they're ping pong balls being thrown at her. "He's going to the party anyway, so if you hate him, you can always make excuses. Come on, what do you have to lose?" When I don't respond, she continues, "Nothing. The answer is nothing."

"Fine," I shrug, and nod. Maybe this is the kick in the ass I need to make that call to Bill. Or, well I don't know that I'm up to a call, but I can certainly text him. He's faithfully sent me a text a day, asking where I was; the least I can do is respond.

And, how bad could this "date" really be? If Claudine wants to bring this mystery guy along with us to a party, what can I say to stop her? Besides, I need to do something to break myself out of the rut.

I set my shoulders straight, and turn to face Claudine. "I'll go."

"You will?" she practically shrieks, clasping her hands together. "You won't regret it. I promise!"

…

I send the text to Bill before I can talk myself out of it. It is short and to the point – I don't want to let him think that anything has changed.

~Thanks for checking in. I am fine.

It is nice, though not too nice; effective, but certainly does not give any wiggle room or show any interest. I drop my phone into my purse as soon as the envelope icon shows that the message has been sent and I head out to wait for Amelia to be ready to leave. The day has flown by; I had a hard time believing Claudine when she told me to pack up and leave, but being back in the industry, learning about the property, it made me feel something I hadn't felt in years.

My phone rings before I am out the door, and I don't have to look at it to know who it is. I knew it wouldn't end with a text, no matter how hopeful I was that it would. I scurry outside to a secluded area and take a deep breath before hitting the answer button.

"Hello?" I ask, looking over my shoulder to make sure no one can hear me.

"Sookie?" Bill's familiar voice sounds from the receiver.

"Yes, it's me." I laugh nervously. "Hi Bill."

He is silent. I can almost sense him frowning over the phone at me.

"I, uh…" God this is awkward. "How are you Bill?"

He lets out a quiet grunt. "Where are you Sookie?" So much for driving the conversation.

"Bill. I… well I had to get out of town."

"Yes, that was apparent when I went to your house on Monday, and again on Tuesday and Wednesday. Where are you?"

"Bill-"

"Sookie," he makes an exasperated noise. "I don't understand." When I don't say anything, can't say anything, he continues. "Do you really hate me that much?"

"I don't hate you!" I protest. Really, I don't. I just don't love him. "It's…not you…" There I go with the lame excuse, even if it is true in his case.

"Don't be like this Sookie. Come home. Let's talk about this."

"No." I shake my head vehemently, though I know he can't see me. "Bill, I wanted to call and apologize for the way I handled things. I, well, I wasn't thinking very straight. It wasn't nice of me to run off on you and not even tell you where I was going."

I can hear him breathing on the other end of the line, but he remains silent.

"I don't know what to tell you, other than that in that moment I realized that I couldn't do it anymore. If I'd known earlier, I would have told you, you have to believe me."

"I thought you loved me." His voice is so quiet that I barely hear him.

"I did. I did," I repeat. "But not enough to marry you. I thought we could do it, but then I realized that I can't."

"What changed?"

"I don't know," I say truthfully. "Nothing? Everything? I don't know."

"Give me a chance Sookie. You can't throw away two years together on a whim."

"It's not a whim."

"Sookie."

"No," I shake my head again. "Bill, I didn't call you so that we could discuss it. I called you because I didn't want to be the girl that left you hanging."

"But you did." He paused. "You are."

"I'm sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't think I would forgive me either. I just needed to tell you I am okay, and to tell you that I am sorry. I wish the best for you."

"Sook, don't be like this-" he starts, and I interrupt.

"I hope you find someone Bill. Someone who is better than I am; someone that can make you happy. I hope…" I trail off. I don't know what I hope. It all seems like a blur. "I've got to go."

"Sookie!"

"Bye Bill," I say, and hang up the phone before I can say anything else.

I stare at my phone blankly. I don't even flinch when it lights up with Bill's number, and I send it to voicemail. It wasn't an easy call to make, or an easy conversation to have, but it was what I had needed to do. It is what had to be done to shut the door on the last chapter of my life; what had to be finished before I could start this next chapter, whatever that chapter would be.

"Are you ready?" Amelia asks, pulling me out of my reverie.

"Sure," I say with a nod, and stand up. "Let's go."

* * *

**AN:** Thanks again to everyone for reading, reviewing, alerting, favoriting, etc. You're all the best.

Next chapter... Sookie's big date! *snort*


	5. Chapter 5: Brainfreeze

**AN:** I was a terrible review responder this past week, and promise to try to get better at it! That being said, I want to send out a big thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing, alerting and favoriting the Surfer. He's a heck of a lot of fun to write, and I hope you all continue to enjoy reading him!

**~~Chapter 5: Brainfreeze~~**

"Come on Sook," Amelia says as soon as we walk through the door. She unapologetically tugs the straps of my dress down my shoulders like she's personally trying to get into my pants – or dress rather, "we hardly have enough time to get you ready for the big date tonight."

I stumble as she pulls me towards the bathroom and shoves a towel in my hands. "You have ten minutes to shower, and I want every last bit of you washed and shaved."

"Amelia!" I protest. "One, it's not a date." She rolls her eyes. "And two, even if it was, there's no way this guy is going to see enough of me to know if I've shaved. Washed? Yeah, you could smell that; but shaved? Who do you think I am?"

Amelia shrugs and gives me a hard shove into the bathroom. "You never know what's going to happen Sookie." The door shuts behind me with a loud bang and I'm left to my own devices for the first time since I was so rudely awoken.

I shower because I do, in fact, need to freshen up. I'm not out to impress this mystery man with a baby soft body; I have no plans to let him or anyone else get into my pants in the near future, but that doesn't mean that I need to punish him and everyone else by smelling like a heaping pile of garbage.

The water pours over my head, quickly eradicating any lingering scents from the hotel and replacing them with the coconut body wash Amelia left in the shower for me. I wash my hair again, even though I hate taking the time to dry it, and run the razor over my legs to make sure I don't look like a rebellious feminist from the seventies in the shorts and t-shirt I have planned to wear.

I'm no sooner out of the shower than Amelia is at the door, throwing it open with a maniacal smile on her face.

"I picked out some clothes for you. They're on the bed," she says, inclining her head behind her. "And I swear I'll strip you myself if you're not wearing it when I come back in three minutes."

She's gone as quickly as she arrived, and I groan when I see what she's got laid out on the bed for me. The casual, comfortable cute I planned isn't what she has in mind. No, instead of shorts and a t-shirt, there is a dress I've never seen before that looks like it'll be three sizes too small. She's even gone through the effort of pulling out a bra and underwear for me to wear.

"Amelia!" I yell. "I am not wearing this!"

Her head pops into view and she smiles. "Yes you are. No lip, remember? And I'm doing your make up too."

"No," I say, defiantly shaking my head. "Absolutely not. Last time I let you do my makeup, I ended up looking like a _Toddlers in Tiaras_ reject."

Amelia scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Fine. But I at least get veto power on what you do."

I groan, rolling my shoulders and reluctantly nodding. "I suppose I can live with that. God knows you aren't giving up until you get your way."

"You know me too well," she says in an annoying sing-song voice. "Now get dressed!"

I do as she says. The dress, while tight, doesn't make me look like a sausage, for which I can be grateful. In all honesty, the cut is pretty flattering, and while red isn't a color I tend to lean towards normally, I can admit that it works well with the tan I've garnered from my time on Amelia's balcony.

"You look hot," Amelia's voice says from behind me. I roll my eyes in the mirror at her before turning around. "You do," she says with a nod. "Alcide isn't going to be able to keep his hands off of you looking like that."

"Alcide?" I ask, the name rolling off my tongue in all its unfamiliarity.

"Your date," she says, crossing the room to me in five strides. "Or didn't Claudine tell you his name?"

I shake my head and watch as Amelia's lips turn down in a frown. "Hmmm, wonder why. Well, it doesn't matter. You're going to love him."

I follow as she leads me to the vanity and shoves me down into the seat. "I thought you specifically instructed me not to date anyone for two months."

"Who said anything about dating?" she asks, reaching for the tube of foundation I'd left laying on its side.

"You did," I say, snatching it out of her hands and squirting a dollop onto my foundation brush. "You called him my 'date'."

"'Date' and 'dating' aren't the same thing Sookie," she says and begins to rifle through the rest of my makeup.

"They sound the same," I grumble, smoothing the foundation evenly over my face before I reach for the powder brush.

"Lots of words sound the same and have different meanings," she points out. "Or hell, some of them even are the same word and used different have different meanings. For example, take the word 'fuck'; you can use it as an expletive, as in 'Fuck, I can't wait to go on this date!' or you can use it as a verb, like 'I can't wait to fuck my date'! See?"

"I am not going to be _fucking_ anyone," I reply.

"So you say," she replies, handing me two eye shadows and a brush, "now hurry up. I've got to get ready too you know."

I finish my makeup under Amelia's watchful eye in under five minutes – I'm not really a layer upon layer type of girl – and by some miracle, it meets her approval.

I'm given a reprieve, albeit a small one, when she goes to her room to finish getting ready herself. No sooner do I turn the hairdryer off than I hear the doorbell ring.

"Amelia!" I call, "are you going to get that?"

When there's no response over the loud buzz of her own hairdryer, I decide to take matters into my own hands and get the door myself. I know Claudine, and God knows that I would know this Alcide character soon enough.

I feel like I've been hit by a Mac truck when the door swings open to reveal Claudine standing next to the man who is my date this evening. He's well over six feet tall, all muscle and tanned skin; his hair is dark, so dark in fact that it creates a sinister looking halo around his head.

"Hey Sookie," Claudine says, stepping past me into the house.

"Um, come on in," I say, stepping to the side to allow the tall man in. What in the hell was going on here? Is everyone in Hawaii this good looking, or have I just had the fortune to meet all of the hot ones? I feel like I was on the CW, only I was the awkward, gawky one amidst the model party. What a great way to feel, let me tell you.

"Sookie, this is Alcide," Claudine says, giving me a small shove in his direction. A small shove wouldn't normally disrupt me, but the four inch wedges Amelia insisted I wear have a different idea. Instead of taking a graceful step forward, my body decides that my feet should stay planted where they are and I careen sideways towards him like I'm some kind of Cirque du Soleil acrobat (only far, far less limber).

I am sure I am going to end up flat on my ass with my underwear showing, but something – or more aptly, someone stops my fall. Alcide's hands are large and warm on my body, holding me up as I try to right myself. When I look up into his face, I'm met with the most startling green eyes I've seen in my life. I smile awkwardly and am rewarded with a smile in return. His smile travels up to his eyes and they freaking twinkle when he looks down at me.

"You alright there?" he asks, his voice a deep baritone that reverberates through my entire body.

"Yeah," I say, willing my feet to get underneath me again, "I think so. These shoes are just… not very user friendly."

I manage to straighten myself up and take a step back away from him. "I'm Sookie."

"I figured as much," he says, reaching out to shake my hand as if my boobs weren't against his forearm not thirty seconds ago. "Nice to meet you."

I take his hand and try to squash the blush I feel rising in my cheeks. "Same here. Sorry about that," I say, pointing towards his arm.

"Not a problem," he reassures me. "It's not every day I get to do a good deed. I figure that'll take care of me for the rest of the night," he adds with a wink.

"You ready?" I hear Amelia's voice call from behind me. I spin around and nearly choke when I see what she's wearing. If I think my tight little red dress is scandalous, I'm not sure how to classify Amelia's outfit. The two black strips of fabric barely cover her body, leaving nothing to the imagination unless you're into imagining what unmentionable body parts look like.

"Uh…"I say, tugging at the hem of my dress, "yeah, I guess."

"Good," she says with a nod, "Claudine did you ride over with Alcide?" Claudine nods. "Perfect. Then why don't you ride over with me since you know where Pam's house is? And Alcide, you know where Pam lives right?" He replies with a guttural yes. "Perfect. You take Sookie with you and we'll meet you over there."

I shoot her the nastiest look I can conjure, which she laughs off as she walks out the door and leaves me alone with the oversized man.

"Looks like it's you and me, eh?" he asks, taking the crook of my arm as we step outside.

"Yeah, looks like it."

..

The car ride is thankfully not very long. It's not that I don't like Alcide, truly it isn't. He's a nice enough guy, and God knows my body is attracted to his, but it's blaringly obvious that that he is a long way from over that girlfriend Claudine mentioned. He's brought her up at least five separate times in the ten minute ride – Debbie was from the South too; Debbie liked to wear red a lot; Debbie liked the beach too. Heck, he even brought up the details of how Debbie got engaged. It's almost sad to see how invested he still is in a girl who obviously has moved on. If I was interested in him, I probably would scream at his incessant chatter about her. Since I'm not, I smile reassuringly at him and stare straight ahead.

The party is in full swing by the time we arrive, which surprises me a bit. Back in Louisiana, if someone says a party started at nine, you knew there was no point in showing up until ten-thirty. That doesn't appear to be the case on the North Shore of Hawaii. Then again, if I lived in this virtual paradise, I guess I'd be in celebration mode all the time.

Amelia and Claudine pull in ahead of us, pulling into a parking space across the street from the massive mansion belonging to this Pam woman, whoever she was. I thought Amelia's place was impressive, but boy was I wrong.

"You two have a nice talk?" Amelia asks as she loops her arm through mine. Claudine and Alcide have fallen behind, and I'm sure he's getting the same line of questioning I am.

"Sure," I respond with a shrug of my shoulders, "it was fine."

"Good," she nods. "I hear he's a right animal in the sack."

"Amelia!" I screech, hoping that he didn't overhear her. I look over to see him deep in conversation with Claudine and let out a whoosh of relieved air. "What he's like in the sack isn't my concern," I add, lowering my voice as we head towards the front door.

"Why not?" she asks, with a pout. "He's a good looking guy; you're a good looking girl. You two should totally go at it."

"He's so not over his girlfriend," I say, silencing her as I see Alcide and Claudine approach. "It doesn't matter," I add.

Amelia shrugs and walks to the front door, pushing it open as if she owns the place and walks inside. I stop dead in my tracks when I see the room before me.

I have definitely walked into a sound stage for the CW. There is no way that parties like this really exist. Or, if they do, I certainly have never been to one. The last party I went to consisted of a bunch of Jason's friends from Hot Shot, a shot gun and a case of Natty Ice.

This? This was unlike anything I have ever seen in person. The main room of the house is decorated entirely in white, with big windows and sweeping vistas of the beach behind. Some version of European house music is thumping from hidden speakers, giving the scene a primal soundtrack.

"Amelia!" I hear a distinct feminine voice say, and I look up from my studious examination of the room around me to see a beautiful blonde heading towards us. She's petite, much shorter than I am, with pale blonde hair and the body of a Victoria's Secret model. I instantly begin to doubt my own appearance, despite the number of eyes that I feel on me. That's the problem with hanging out with beautiful people when you aren't one of them; no matter how hard you try (or are forced to try in my case) you never quite measure up.

The blonde is upon us in an instant, leaning in to brush kisses across Amelia's cheeks, and then giving similar greetings to both Claudine and Alcide. She pauses when she reaches me, eyeing me from head to toe.

"And who is this delectable creature?" she asks, turning her eyes to Amelia. Apparently she thinks I'm a mute. A mute, delectable creature. Must be the signal I'm giving off.

"This is Sookie," Amelia pipes in, "my friend I was telling you about from college? Sookie, this is Pam Ravenscroft; her Dad owns the hotel."

"You didn't tell me she was so beautiful," Pam says, her eyes darting back to me. "If I'd known, I would have definitely made a trip into the hotel today."

I feel myself blush, even though I know her compliment is a load of bullshit. When you're used to the likes of Claudine, and you look the way Pam does, you don't think a size ten (eight on a good day!) girl qualifies as 'beautiful', but I am willing to let it slide.

"It's kind of hectic," Pam says, grabbing my hand in hers to lead us through the open house to the back patio. "I invited a few people from the resort, and word kind of spread," she adds with a shrug.

A few people have somehow turned into sixty at the very least, all with that golden sun kissed color that I've spent hours on the beach trying to achieve. Pam's back porch is massive, and leads straight onto the beach. It is hard to tell where the party's guests end and the next house's begin, but I doubt anyone cares. It isn't like there are a ton of tourists out on Sunset Beach at nine o'clock at night.

"The bar's over there," she says, pointing to a makeshift stand at the edge of her patio. There is a tall Asian man standing behind the wooden table. He is lanky and beautiful, though every inch of his skin is covered in tattoos. "That's Chow," she says. "He looks a lot meaner than he is, but I should probably go grab your first drinks. You'll come with me, won't you Alcide?" she asks, batting her eyelashes in his direction. He nods as she continues. "Chow has a nasty habit of running off people he doesn't know, which I suppose is good for the most part, but I'd hate to see you leave." Her eyes fly to mine, and she winks at me. That's three winks since I've been here; I can't even tell you the last time someone winked at me. Maybe it was catching on Oahu?

The sight of her winking brings back a flash of memory of the surfer on the beach and I shake my head. Just because she is blonde and beautiful doesn't mean she is anything like my surfer. "What can we get you?"

Pam and Alcide aren't gone for ten seconds before Claudine pounces on me. "So, what do you think?"

I blink rapidly in her direction. "It's… it's insane. I am not sure what I had been expecting from this party, but this was beyond anything I could have imagined."

"Not about the party silly," Claudine says, and playfully slaps at my arm. "About Alcide. What do you think? I think he likes you."

I groan and sit down on a vacant loveseat. "I don't think he is over his ex-girlfriend enough to like me."

She sits down next to me, a little too close, and shakes her head. "Yeah, he is quite hung up on Debbie, but who cares? It's not like you're looking for a boyfriend right?"

"No," I say, edging as far away from Claudine as possible. I'm not one of those weird people that doesn't like to be touched, but I have an ingrained appreciation for my own space, and Claudine is definitely invading upon it. "I'm not looking for a boyfriend, or anything else for that matter."

"He's good in bed," she says, as if that is reason enough.

"Good for him?"

"It could be good for you too," she says, giving me a bawdy wink. "Nothing like a rebound to get over your ex-boyfriend."

"I don't need to get over my ex-boyfriend," I say, adamantly shaking my head. "I'm over him."

"Mmm hmm, sure thing," Claudine adds. "Then what's the big deal about hopping into the sack with a man that looks like Alcide?"

I shut my eyes, ducking my head to rest against the hands I've propped on my knees. "I'm not looking to hop into the sack with anyone," I say, without moving.

"She's weird like that," Amelia adds. I feel the weight shift on the loveseat and look over to see Amelia seated next to Claudine. "Our Sookie doesn't believe in free love."

"That's not true!" I say, sitting back against the cushion. It was so true. "I just don't see the need to bone every man that looks at me."

Claudine laughs as she looks between us. "I suppose not everyone can be like Amelia here," she says. She lowers her voice and points to the crowd where I can see Pam and Alcide approaching. "Promise me you'll at least pretend to be interested? He's had a rough time since Debbie announced her engagement. He's a really good guy and he needs an ego boost."

I groan and nod my head. I am such a sucker for helping people; too much, is what my Gran would say. I can play the part for one night. Didn't mean I had to go home with the guy, right?

Claudine shifts as Alcide approaches, instructing him to sit in her vacated seat. His presence is overwhelming, the heat pouring off of his body mingling with the cooler breeze coming off the ocean. We spend the next twenty minutes making small talk with one another. I now know that he likes to drink whiskey and ginger ale, and that he moved out to Hawaii to be a surf instructor when he was eighteen years old.

"Are you a surf instructor at the hotel?" I ask, throwing back the contents of my drink. Maybe a few cocktails would make this interlude a little more interesting.

"Sure am," he says with a bright smile. "You ever tried surfing?"

I shake my head vehemently, unsuccessfully trying to squash the image of Surfer Leif from my mind.

"I'd be more than happy to show you if you'd like," he offers.

"I, uh…" I say. "I think I'll pass on that." When his face looks dejected, I add. "I'm kind of afraid of open water."

He nods, looking pacified by my response. "Yeah, a lot of people are. But you know, I could watch out for you. Make sure nothing happens."

"I don't think so," I say, trying to be as polite as possible.

"I taught Debbie how to surf," he adds. "Then she ran off with that asshole from Pupukea without so much as a goodbye." He tips back the end of his drink and stands up abruptly. "You want another one?" he asks, pointing towards my empty gin and tonic.

"Please," I say, thankful for the intercession as he storms towards the bar. I wonder if Amelia and Claudine have any idea of what is happening in our conversation. I look over to see that Claudine has disappeared and Pam and Amelia are deep in conversation.

Amelia looks up and pats Pam on the knee before moving into Alcide's vacated space.

"Any better?" she asks.

I groan and shake my head.

"Pity. I was really hoping he could be your rebound. Well, look I'm not going to force anyone on you. There are plenty of men here for you to choose from."

"Amelia, I'm not looking for a man to rebound with."

"A woman then?" Pam's voice interjects. I look over to see her watching us closely, a smile plastered on her face.

"No!" I screech. "No one."

"Why not?" Pam asks. "You look gorgeous. Anyone here would be happy to go home with you."

"I look like a cheap hooker," I say, looking down at my dress.

"You do not," she says, eyeing my cleavage appreciatively. "You look _way _too expensive to be a cheap hooker."

I gasp, covering my chest with my hands.

Pam laughs, reaching out to grab my wrist and pull it free. "They're boobs. All women have them, though most aren't as impressive as yours, I'll admit." She shrugs. "You're in Hawaii. Who cares if you let the girls hang out for a night?"

"I certainly don't," a droll voice interjects from behind me. I twist around quickly to see its owner and nearly faint. Unless there were two incredibly tall blond men with wicked smiles on the island, I have no doubt that I am looking at Surfer Leif. I feel my knees go all gooey and am thankful that I've remained sitting instead of standing up and getting the hell out of here.

"Don't scare the girl Eric!" Pam scolds. "She might just cover them up for good, and what a pity that would be."

"That would be a pity indeed," he says, his eyes dipping back to the front of my dress.

I am dying, at least I hope I'm dying. There is no way I can be in this situation and not keel over, right? I look between Pam and Surfer Leif – Eric… Eric? Shit, Surfer Leif was Eric? GPD Eric? I shut my eyes and groan. Of course he is. I have the worst luck ever.

When I open my eyes, Eric is standing there, smirking down at me in a way that tells me he's been appreciating the view from his angle.

"Sookie, this is Pam's brother Eric," Amelia interjects. "He's the one I was telling you about earlier."

"All good things I hope," Eric says, meeting my eyes, "Sookie, is it?"

I nod, feeling like my tongue has swollen to a gargantuan size and I am no longer able to talk.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sookie," he says, walking around and wedging himself into the small space between Amelia and me on the loveseat. "Tell me, how are you enjoying Hawaii so far?"


	6. Chapter 6: Gnarly

**~~Chapter 6:****Gnarly:** (n) Treacherous; large and dangerous

I swallow, hoping against hope that I don't choke on my own tongue. Is that even possible? I shake my head, and wonder why in the hell I'm worrying about choking on my tongue when the one man who can turn me epileptic is sitting with his thigh pressed against mine.

"Sookie?" Amelia says, interrupting the scenario that's playing out in my head where Leif – erm, Eric has to resuscitate me. Though frankly, thinking about the way he would have to resuscitate me is enough to send me into convulsions.

"What?" I ask, trying to scoot as far away from Eric as possible, rather unsuccessfully I might add. It's kind of impossible to move when the arm of the loveseat is already lodged into my thigh.

"Are you going to answer Eric's question?"

"Oh, I, uh," I stammer, "what was the question again?"

"I asked how you were enjoying Hawaii so far," Eric interrupts and slides his leg against mine in a manner that can only be deliberate, though no one else seems to notice.

"I. Yes. Quite lovely." Where in the hell is Alcide with my drink? I will take ten stories about how Debbie's hair looks like a fox pelt (yes, he said that as if it is a good thing) if it means I get a gin and tonic and get to run far away from the man sitting next to me. Of course, when I want him to be there, Alcide is nowhere to be found. How in the hell do you lose a six-foot-five man in a room?

"Have you been to the beach much?" he asks, and I think I feel his pinky brush against the side of my thigh. I look down, only to see that his hand is firmly in his lap. Great, now I'm imagining things.

"A bit," I say absentmindedly.

"She went one day," Amelia says, "but then she holed herself up in the house after that. She won't tell me what happened though."

There goes my secret.

I scowl at Amelia and reach down to grab my gin and tonic, slurping out every last drop I can garner with the tiny straw.

"Something put you off the beach?" Eric asks. "Hopefully not the locals." I look over, meeting his eyes for the first time since he sat down and am startled by what I find there. Instead of the mocking glint I expected, they look genuinely concerned.

"Of course not," I say, forcing myself to smile. "I just decided it was smarter to stick close to the house since I don't know the island very well yet."

"Good idea," Pam says. "Though it's not like you can get too lost. It is an island."

"Hey," Eric interjects, "I seem to recall you getting yourself lost a few times there Pam."

"Only because I didn't drive to my location," Pam says sweetly. "That is the problem of going home with a stranger. But you'd know that, wouldn't you Eric?"

My eyes dart back and forth between the brother and sister, both gritting their teeth through the smiles plastered on their face.

"As I was saying," Eric continues, turning his attention back to me. "Have you had much of a chance to see the island?"

"Not really." I am happy that the tone of conversation is going back to small talk. This I can handle; this I am the master at. "Amelia took me down to Waikiki on the weekend for a bit of shopping, but nothing much past that."

"You should really go to Diamondhead," Eric says and shoots me one of those knee-weakening smiles that made me run away from him in the first place. "I'd be happy to take you and show you around if you'd like."

His offer sounds so innocent, and a younger version of me might have believed that there it is nothing more than a friendly offer; but I haven't forgotten the man on the beach, the way his eyes traveled across every inch of my bare skin and promised more than looking if I gave him the go ahead.

I open my mouth to turn him down, though I don't have to say anything at all.

"Ignore him, Sookie," Amelia says, and sends him a warning look. "Eric, leave poor Sookie alone. You're far too charming and she is a bit too intelligent for your liking."

Eric frowns and turns his eyes towards Amelia. "Who says I don't like intelligent women, Amelia?"

Pam starts to laugh, her head falls so far back that I am not sure if she'll be able to right it again. "For God's sake Eric, everyone knows you only date dumb bimbos with big tits. You're a legend."

Eric begins to squirm uncomfortably in his seat and I would be lying if I say I don't feel a sense of pleasure that he appears to be as uncomfortable as I am. Well, uncomfortable about an entirely different subject, or well not entirely different, but not exactly the same. Either way, I am happy that I am not the only one anymore.

"Besides," Amelia says, "Sookie's not dating anyone. Not for at least two months."

Eric's discomfort quickly erodes and he is back into full predator mode. His eyes dart back to meet mine, and there is a knowing glint in their blue depths, as if he thinks my moratorium on dating is the only reason I turned him down on the beach. I mean, yes, that was what pushed me over the edge, but I would have said no regardless of my ability to date, right?

"Is that so?" he asks.

"Um," I start, "well…I guess," I end weakly, unsure of what is the right thing to say at this juncture.

"So if someone asked you to dinner, you'd say…" Eric trails off.

I am not about to confirm his suspicions, regardless of how true they are. He clearly has no issue with his ego. I don't even know who I need to thank, or bow down to for the interruption that comes next.

"Here you go," Alcide's deep voice says from to my right. I look up to see him standing next to me and try not to laugh at the somber expression that covers his face when he realizes that his seat has been taken. "Oh, uh, hey Eric."

"You two know each other?" I ask. Of course they do. They're probably best friends the way my night is going.

"Sure do," Eric says without giving Alcide an opportunity to respond. He turns to face me. "More importantly though. How do you two know each other?"

I shoot a death ray at Amelia to keep her trap shut. The last thing I need is for Eric to think that my no dating rule has any wiggle room, or that I am here on a date with Alcide, no matter if that is technically true. Amelia keeps her mouth shut; Claudine unfortunately does not.

"They're here on a date," she says with a smile that would make the Queen of Candyland look less than sweet.

I groan. Literally groan out loud and stand up to snatch the gin and tonic out of Alcide's hand. I can feel Eric's eyes on me, but refuse to meet them.

"Thanks Alcide," I say, never one to forget my manners. I turn back to face the four faces that are looking at Alcide and me with rapt attention. "If you'll excuse me, I, uh, need to..." Run. Run as far as I can. "Excuse me," I repeat again and turn to make my exit.

I feel a warm hand encircle my elbow and spin around to see its owner. Alcide. I sigh with relief, though frankly why I think it's better to be Alcide than Eric, I cannot tell you. "Do you want company?"

"Um." I surreptitiously avoid the eight eyes that are watching our exchange, particularly a rather bottomless blue set. "No. I think I've got it under control. I just need to-"

"Let the poor girl go," Pam interjects. Huh. I never would have guessed she would be my savior, but I am going to owe her. "The bathroom is at the end of the hall."

"Thanks," I say quickly and almost fall off my platfrom in my haste to get out of there. I don't need to use the restroom, but is as good of an excuse as any. I slip down the hallway, weaving between the scantily clad bodies on my way to the one sanctuary no one will bother me in.

I splash my face with cold water before assessing myself in the mirror. Just as I expected, I am bright red; tomato red; as red as my red polka dot bikini, and just as splotchy. Good thing I am not looking for a guy after all.

By some stroke of good fortune, I manage to get outside without being detected. I hurry down the beach, my platforms sinking into the deep sand, but I don't care. I need to have a moment to myself.

The sun has completely set, and all the beautiful pink and purple colors at sunset have been replaced by an endless starry sky. As soon as I am far enough away to avoid any stragglers, I sit down on the beach and undo my ankle straps as I look out towards the ocean. The beach is surprisingly empty considering how many people are at Pam's party; Eric's party.

I flop onto my back with little ceremony, throwing my arm over my eyes as I try to regroup. There is no need for manners since there is no one in sight. It seems like I am only down for a few minutes, but when I reopen my eyes, even the last stragglers I'd seen have disappeared.

Shit. There is no doubt that Amelia is going to send out a search crew, if she hasn't already. I don't want to be on the end of her pitying looks; for as much as she has been hassling me to get out and playing the tough card, I have seen the concern in her eyes. I am okay, truly I am. I just need some time to figure everything out. It's not every day that I pick up and move thousands of miles to run away from my life.

"This seat taken?" a deep voice asks from behind me. I look back and can't mask my surprise when I see Eric standing there.

"Um..." I have no idea what to say. None whatsoever.

"I would hate to make the same mistake twice, though thankfully I don't have to worry about blocking your sun this time. Unless, of course, you are moon bathing. Are you moon bathing Sookie?"

I can't see his eyes - his face is little more than a darkened shadow as the moonlight glints off of his golden hair – but I can hear the smile in his voice. A vivid flash of the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles passes before my eyes, though I shouldn't even have a clue what that looks like.

"I didn't expect to see you. In there I mean," I say, ignoring his question about moon bathing. It's too flirtatious, and that is not a path I should go down with this man.

"I don't imagine you did," he responds, and sits down next to me unceremoniously. His limbs are long, though not too long for his body, and they make my legs look like veritable stumps in comparison. I wonder what they would feel like against mine, and immediately admonish myself for having the thought. I am not in the market. Period.

The silence fills the space between us and I shift uncomfortably. He's so still he could be a statue. I don't understand people like that, the ones that don't even look like they need to breathe. Me? I couldn't sit still even if you paid me. I fidget something terrible, especially when I'm nervous, and who wouldn't be nervous around someone like Eric?

I reach out and take a handful of sand, letting the grains fall between the cracks in my fingers as I try to figure out what to say.

"I'm not," I blurt out as soon as the last grain of sand has filtered out of my fingers. Shit. I hadn't meant to say that. Did I mention that I also have a serious problem with silence?

A confused smile creeps over his face as he looks at me. "You're not what?"

Oh well, in for a penny, right? God knows I'm not going to say anything intelligible. I've only got one thing on my mind, so I might as well come out and say it.

"Moon bathing." Dear God I sound pathetic. "I'm, erm, not moon bathing." I want the sand to swallow me in its depths, or one of the famous massive waves to come and sweep me out to sea. Either sounds preferable to the garbage I just spewed out of my mouth.

"Really?" he asks with a quiet chuckle. "Shame. If anyone could get away with it, it would be you."

"What do you mean by that?" I just can't keep my mouth shut, can I?

He shakes his head and makes a sound of dismissal. "Nothing."

"No." I sit up straight and turn to face him, curious to hear him continue. "You can't say something like that and then not finish."

"It's," he pauses, "well, there's something about you Sookie. You're not like other girls, are you?"

I laugh, a real, genuine laugh and shake my head. "You don't know anything about me."

"I don't need to," he responds slowly, his hand inching closer to mine across the stretch of moonlit sand. "There's something that intrigues me. And when I'm intrigued, I follow through."

I wonder what it's like to be someone like Eric; someone so sure of themselves that he can spew out lines of crap like that and make women everywhere want to believe him. Hell, I want to believe him more than anything, but Claudine's warning rings loud.

"I'm sure you say that to all the girls." I make the move to stand up and am startled when I feel his warm hand on my wrist.

"Don't go." I see the plea in his eyes and something stops me. Some ridiculously stupid, torture-loving part of me tells me that staying isn't a bad idea. I look down at the way his hand looks against my skin, the way his long fingers easily wrap around my wrist. The heat of the night is nothing in comparison to what his fingers feel like on my skin. I want to leave, really I do, but my body has a different idea and I sit down, though this time closer to Eric.

Shit.

"Okay."

"Good," he says, not letting go. His thumb is tracing along the veins of my inner wrist, and I'm fairly sure that I would have had to sit down if I wasn't sitting already. If his thumb can do that on my wrist, I can't imagine what else he must be able to do. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Um… I guess." So much for sounding intelligent.

"Alright," he nods, "good. Tell me, is it true you're not dating anyone?"

"Um…" Shit, right now I can barely remember my name. I am certain I can't form a coherent sentence.

"Are you here on a date with Alcide?" he persists.

"No," I shake my head. "Not really. I mean…I'm here with him, but…no. I've, um, sworn off dating."

The smile that breaks out on his face should piss me off, really it should. It doesn't.

A noise that is akin to a growl forms deep in his throat and his thumb stills its Ptolemaic study of my veins. "Good. That's good."

"Why's that?" Is that breathless voice really mine?

"Well," he says with a smirk, "I would hate to have to kill Alcide. He's one of my best friends."

"Oh." Oh? Are you kidding me? All I can come up with is 'oh'? "I mean," I clear my throat, "why would you have to…erm, do that with Alcide?"

"I'm not very good at sharing what I want." His fingers snake along the inside of my arm, stopping when they reach the sensitive skin of my elbow.

"With Alcide?" I somehow manage to stifle the groan that is building in my chest at the way his fingers are dancing across the sensitive skin of my arm. Focus. I need to focus.

"With anyone." My whole body is reverberating at the four syllables and I am tempted to reach out and tuck the stray long of his too-long hair behind his ear. But that would be inappropriate. Inappropriate and bad; really bad. I form a fist to stop myself.

"I'm sure that's a real problem," I answer, trying to sound a little more put together than I feel.

"It can be," he replies with a smirk. "I guess I never learned that whole sharing is caring thing. I was a shitty five year old."

I laugh before I can stop myself, one of those deep, guttural laughs as I imagine what he would have been like as a kindergartner.

"It's true," he continues. "I was always getting in trouble. You know what I got in trouble for the most?"

I shake my head. His hand has traveled even further up my arm and has come to rest on my bare shoulder.

"Pulling girls hair." His fingers are suddenly wrapped around a strand of my hair that has come loose from the low bun I'd thrown it into. "But you know what they say about that?" I don't respond. "Boys only do that if they like the girl. They don't know how to express themselves."

I am unable to breathe as I wait for his next move. He is so close that I can smell the hint of aftershave he uses. I look down at his hand, at the way my blonde hair wraps around his fingers, and look up to meet his eyes. His face is closer than I thought it was and my labored breath dances across the space between us and sends a strand of his hair fluttering.

"I, uh, don't think you have a problem expressing yourself."

He chuckles, a deep, masculine chuckle, and he loosens his grip on my hair. He moves only slightly, the knuckles of his pointer finger brushing across the skin of my cheek.

"No, I suppose I don't need to pull hair anymore to tell a girl I like her." Nope. One look and a girl could tell. She'd be a fool to ignore that look. I may not ignore it, but I wasn't prepared to see where it goes. "Unless she wants me to," he adds with a smirk. Shit.

I somehow manage to regain my senses, albeit briefly. Eric is dangerous. Dangerous to women everywhere, but particularly dangerous to me. I'm not dating anyone. I'm not even supposed to want to date anyone long term. Although, I don't know that I'd want anything long term with Eric. Or, more importantly, that he'd want anything long term with me.

"I'm sure you don't have any problems picking up the ladies," I say.

"Not usually," he responds with a shrug, finally lowering the hand that had been on my face. "But it's been a bit more difficult lately. I was fairly sure I'd lost it not that long ago, but then I found out that it wasn't me." I don't say anything, and he leans back on his hands as he surveys me.

"Tell me," he continues, "how long are you going to be in Oahu?" He flips between flirting to small talk with an ease only the most practiced seducers have, but at least I can respond to this. Small talk. I am really good at small talk. Maybe I imagined everything else. Maybe Eric is one of those guys that flirts outrageously with everyone, even if he doesn't mean it. There is no way a man like Eric would bother pursuing someone that turned him down already, not when there were so many ready and willing.

"I'm not sure." I look out towards the ocean. "I don't have much to go back to really. And now that Amelia gave me a job at the hotel…erm, your hotel," I add and flash a smile in his direction, "well, I guess I'll just stay until I can figure some things out."

"A couple of months?" he asks.

I shrug. "I don't know."

"You know what they say about Oahu, don't you?" I shake my head. "You've either got to leave in two weeks, or you've got to stay more than two months." I haven't heard anything like that, ever. And I have read a lot on Oahu in this past week. Amelia has just about every single travel guide imaginable, like a good hotelier would. "I do hope it's the latter in your case Sookie."

"Why's that?" I ask and furrow my brows.

"Because," he says, and leans forward until I can feel his breath on my face again, "if you're not dating anyone for two months, and you leave before then, when would I get a chance to find out if you're anything like I expect you to be?"

So much for my theory.

…

**AN:** So there you have it – their first, quality interaction. Hope you enjoyed it!

Again, terrible review responder this week, but I wanted to get this up within the Thursday schedule. Hope you'll all forgive me!

I'm on vacation next week doing some ahem, research (read: ogling surfers)… so… (hides) no Surfer next Thursday. But then it'll be back to the regular posting schedule!

Hope everyone has a great week!


	7. Chapter 7: Bent

**A/N:** The surfer is back, and so am I! Sorry for the break, but it was well worth the research and inspiration. Thanks to everyone for reading this little slice of the SVM AH universe. Hope you all enjoy!

_**

* * *

When we last left our daring duo:**_

"_You know what they say about Oahu, don't you?" I shake my head. "You've either got to leave in two weeks, or you've got to stay more than two months." I haven't heard anything like that, ever. And I have read a lot on Oahu in this past week. Amelia has just about every single travel guide imaginable, like a good hotelier would. "I do hope it's the latter in your case Sookie."_

"_Why's that?" I ask and furrow my brows._

"_Because," he says, and leans forward until I can feel his breath on my face again, "if you're not dating anyone for two months, and you leave before then, when would I get a chance to find out if you're anything like I expect you to be?"_

_So much for my theory._

**~Chapter 7: ****Bent~  
**

If you're not careful, you can really get bent.

I shut my eyes. This can't be happening. There is no way that Eric has just said that to me. When I reopen them, he is looking at me with a smile.

"Eric-"

"Don't worry Sookie. I will respect your rules, even if I think they're crazy. I can be patient."

"I find that hard to believe." The last word I would think to describe Eric is patient. He is built like a Viking for Pete's sake. I imagine he takes what he wants and doesn't ask permission of anyone.

His laughter fills the still night air, and he looks down at me. "It's true that I'm not known for my patience, but it is something I can do if I think it's worth waiting."

"And this," I wave my hand back and forth between us, "is something you think is worth waiting for?"

His eyes twinkle with desire as he looks down at me. "I think so."

"You don't know anything about me. How could you possibly make an assumption like that without at least knowing more about me than my name and the fact that I own a red bikini?"

His eyebrow arches and there is a wicked glint in his eye as he shrugs.

"That's not enough," I inform him.

He is silent for a moment. "I was wondering something…" he trails off.

"What?" What else could he possibly have to say to me?

"Did you manage to find any of those applications?"

I look at him blankly and shake my head. "What applications?"

"The ones you were out of on the beach. The ones to be your friend?"

I groan and can't stifle the laughter that is bubbling in my chest. "Uh…no. I didn't."

"Shame. Any chance I could skip the application process? I do need to get to know you after all. I promise to be on my best behavior." He raises his hand in scout's honor.

What am I supposed to say to that? I mean really, he's come out to check on me, and has stayed with me even though I've been less than hospitable. Maybe I'm wrong about him. Maybe he is capable of behaving himself. I've never really had a male friend, or at least not a male friend who wasn't my boss or lover. Sure, he had offered to fulfill the role of the latter, and technically he is the former, but there is something about him that makes me want to know more. Perhaps I am an idiot for encouraging him, but I can't help myself.

"Sure," I say before I can convince myself to deny him.

A smile breaks out across his face. "So we're friends?"

"Not yet," I frown, biting my lower lip. "But we can try to be friends; to see if it'll work."

"Friends," he repeats, as if he's testing the word out. "I've never had a friend that's a girl."

"I don't imagine you have." Not that I'm one to say much on that front.

"Any chance of making that a friends with benefits?" he asks with a smirk.

I laugh and shake my head, "Don't push your luck there, Northman." That kind of relationship with Eric would lead to disaster.

"Shame," he says solemnly, then continues, "You know, they say that the best lovers start off as friends." I don't respond. "Here's to being friends… for now."

"We're not friends yet Eric. I said we could try to be friends." The man is persistent, I will give him that.

"We will be," he says and stands up, brushing the loose sand off of his shorts. "I hear I'm quite irresistible." And he knows it, which is exactly the problem.

"Now," he says, "I'd say we need to head inside before Amelia sends out a search party." He holds his hand out in my direction, which I take reluctantly.

"You know Amelia well I'm guessing?" The pads on his fingers are rougher than mine, and feel somehow scandalous against mine as I stand up.

"You could say that." He doesn't let go of my hand and I begin to wonder how much of a production I am going to have to make to get him to let go, or if I even want him to let go. "Very well." His voice sounds strained, but he begins to lead me back towards the house.

My stomach plummets. Oh no. Claudine had said that he got around; was Amelia one of his conquests? Not that it should matter since I don't plan on being one, but the thought of him in bed with Amelia is enough to make me feel sick, even if he is only going to be my friend.

"Did you, erm…" How did I put this? Screw my best friend? I wouldn't put it past her to switch teams again for someone that looked like Eric.

"What?" he asks and stops suddenly, looking down at me. "Did I what?"

"Erm." God, this is awkward. Why did I have to go and open my big mouth? I shouldn't care; no, I don't care.

A smile crinkles the corners of his eyes before spreading across his face. "Are you trying to ask me if I've had sex with your friend?"

Can the ground please swallow me now? I promise I won't put up a fight. "No. No, that wasn't what I was going to ask!" Hello, my name is Sookie Stackhouse and I am a big, fat liar.

"Oh." He begins to walk again; he hasn't let go of my hand. "I was beginning to wonder if you were jealous."

"Me?" Goodness, I sound like a pipsqueak.

"Yes you." He looks over at me, and that damned smirk is still on his face.

"Why would I be jealous?" Um. Lots of reasons, you stupid idiot. None of which should matter.

"Wishful thinking," he says with a shrug. "I mean, I wouldn't like the thought of you naked with my best friend."

"You wouldn't?" Why am I asking this? Because I am a glutton for punishment apparently.

"No," he says, with a shake of his head. "How do you think I felt when I realized you were here on a date with Alcide? Who is one of my best friends, by the way."

"You, um, don't even know me."

"You've already tried that excuse," he points out. "But, if that had been your question, the answer would have been no. I have not slept with Amelia."

I feel relieved; stupidly so.

"Didn't she tell you that she's sleeping with my sister?"

"Not exactly." I had surmised as much from the way they had been sitting together, but no official word.

"Yes, well, they are. Sleeping together that is." We near the house, passing some of the outlying stragglers on our way in. He laughs as I pull my hand from his before anyone can see and speculate. "Don't worry," he says, dipping his head down until his lips are almost on my ear, "your reputation is safe. I don't think anyone saw us."

"That's not why I-"

"You don't need to make excuses, Sookie. I get it, and I still like you anyway." He places his hand on the small of my back and pushes me towards the stairs leading to Pam's house. "Come on, let's get you back to your friends before I can convince you to do anything you regret."

"So not happening," I say to myself, but I suspect he hears it based upon the chuckle behind me.

"There you are!" Amelia says and jumps up from her seat next to Pam when we approach them. "I was getting worried about you." She stumbles over her feet, righting herself with a hand on Pam's shoulder with a giggle.

"I can see that," I say and nod towards the empty drink in her hand.

"Oh," Amelia says, looking past me, "hello Eric. Did you find our Sookie?" Her eyes dart back to meet mine and she waggles her eyebrows dramatically in my direction.

"That I did," he says. His hand falls from the small of my back, and I curse myself for missing its warmth. That just won't do.

"I um, stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air." I step away from Eric before I do something stupid and walk towards the now empty love seat. "Where did Claudine and Alcide go?" Not that I really care, but it seems like a good way to change the subject.

"They left. Alcide got a text from Debbie. He said to tell you goodbye and that he'll see you at work."

"Oh," I say, feeling slightly relieved that I don't have to delve into conversation again with Alcide. Not after what happened on the beach. Then, because it would be impolite not to ask. "Is everything okay?"

"It's fine. But, enough about them," she says and lowers her voice, "where did you run off to Miss Stackhouse?"

"I just needed a moment to myself." I sit down with a thump.

"For an hour?" Amelia asks with a raised eyebrow and sits down next to me.

Had it been that long? Didn't seem like it was, but I truly have no idea. "You know how I am with time."

"Mmm hmm." Amelia pats my knee and lets her hand linger there. "Well," she continues, leaning towards me and lowering her voice so only I can hear, "while it is somewhat troublesome given your track record, you're much better off with Eric anyway, no matter what his motives. I like Alcide, and God knows he is sexy, but he's far from getting over Debbie. I'm afraid he'd latch onto you like a Stage 5 clinger if you gave him any inkling of hope. At least with Eric, you don't have to worry about him forming any kind of attachment."

Thinking it and hearing it from Amelia's lips are two entirely different things.

"I'm wasn't 'with Eric'," I say between clenched teeth and look over to make sure Eric isn't listening; he isn't, "or not, at least, in the way you mean it. And gee, thanks for setting me up with Alcide since you think so much of him."

"That was Claudine's doing," she points out. "Who was I to argue? Besides, it's good to have options. I can speak for the Northman family and say that if you are looking for a quick roll in the hay and can stay detached, Eric might be perfect for the job."

"Amelia! I am not in the market for a boyfriend, or someone to have sex with, or whatever you call it out here. Eric came out and checked on me. End of story. He's not even interested in me that way. We're friends." So, that was kind of lie, sue me.

"Good," she says with a shake of her head, "Though the Eric Northman I know does not have friends that are girls; and he absolutely does not go out to find girls that are stranded on the beach for altruistic reasons."

"Well, he did this time." I reach out and grab the gin and tonic I had left behind. The ice has melted entirely. Normally after leaving a drink alone for this long, I might be concerned about what had been done to it in my absence, but frankly I don't care right now. It's all about distraction. Distraction from Amelia's prodding, and distraction from whatever had just happened out on the beach with Eric.

Amelia is glaring at me like a champion. If looks could indeed kill, I would be portrayed by some two-bit actress on some murder mystery show. I am unsuccessful in my attempts to avoid looking in Eric's direction, and meet his eyes when he looks up as I slurp the last drop of watered down gin from my cup.

"Do you want another?" he asks, nodding towards the cup that is still to my lips.

"Um…" No, the answer should be no. It isn't. "Sure."

"Gin and tonic, right?" I nod, and he smiles at me before excusing himself and heading towards the bar.

"My, my," Pam says, moving to sit next to Amelia, "I don't think I've ever seen Eric go get a woman a drink. He must really want to get into your pants."

"He does not!" I insist. I can feel myself turning red again, and try to squash the blush before it becomes too obvious.

"In all fairness," Amelia interjects, "Eric is kind of known for wanting to get into lots of girls pants."

"Thank you Amelia." I guess?

"But she's right," she continues, "I've not seen him actually do anything for a woman before. They're usually the ones that go and get _him _the drink."

"He's being nice." I say it to reassure myself, as much as to Amelia and Pam.

"Eric is never nice," Pam says and runs her hand up Amelia's leg. "He doesn't have to be. Hell, the more of an asshole he is, the more girls like him."

"Well, I don't like assholes." At least not most of the time. "Besides, you are both being ridiculous. It's not like that."

Pam opens her mouth as if she is going to say something, then shuts it immediately and shakes her head.

"What?"

"Nothing," she says, a wicked smile creeping over her face. "Nothing at all."

…

I wake up the next morning with traces of a hangover. It's nothing serious; I do not want to burrow under my covers and die a slow, dehydrated death, but I can sense the remnants of alcohol coursing through my veins. I wish that I hadn't had that last gin and tonic, but it had seemed like a lifeline last night considering that Eric had stayed seated across from me until it was time to leave.

Amelia and Pam had said nothing that was overtly out of line once Eric got back with that first drink, though everything had been so laced with innuendo and suggestion that I am surprised I didn't die on the spot. Eric had taken the seat across from me – the one Pam had been sitting in – and had played the role of the perfect gentleman for the remainder of the evening. He'd even gone and gotten me two more gin and tonics at my request, raising the eyebrows of Pam and Amelia both times.

I'd done my best to avoid any topics related to me or my move to Hawaii, instead prodding Pam and Eric to tell me stories about their time at the hotel. Their parents had opened the property in Hawaii when Eric had been eight years old and Pam five. It was the third in their property under the Northman group, which had since grown exponentially. Eric and Pam had spent most of their time at their family's properties growing up, and both had naturally fallen into the hotel business. The properties outside of Oahu were still overseen by their parents, but they had decided to let Pam and Eric have a go of it five years ago. I learned quickly that, while Eric moonlighted as a surf instructor, he was responsible for operations on a much larger scale.

Between the two of them, they had regaled Amelia and me with stories of their Eloise-like childhood, and by the time I was halfway done with my second gin and tonic (make that fourth if you count the two before I went outside), I had been able to meet Eric's eyes without wanting to blush. I had felt his eyes on me throughout the night, though hadn't been able to meet his gaze before then. I had even smiled at him, filled with liquid courage from the gin in my glass. That had lasted all of 2.5 seconds until he winked at me, and then it was back to feeling like a shrinking fourteen year old girl, complete with the heart palpitations at the sight of him. One wink, one smile and I temporarily forgot all I knew about him.

Thankfully, I had been able to convince Amelia that we needed to leave early, not that that had helped me stop thinking about him. With the assistance of one very sulky looking designated driver, we made it home and I'd climbed in to bed. You would think four gin and tonics would give you a good night's sleep, but I had spent the first part of the night tossing and turning, remembering the way he had looked at me, and the things he said.

Sometime around two am, I had come to a realization about myself. As much as I may want to change myself, to be more adventurous in the dating arena, I realized that I will never be the kind of girl that can have a casual fling. The mere thought made me anxious, and at that moment, I had decided that maybe being friends with Eric wouldn't be as hard as I had initially thought. I was a relationship kind of girl, and he was definitely not a relationship kind of guy. It would never work. And with that thought, my anxiety dropped and I had drifted off to sleep.

I roll onto my side and look over at the red digital numbers on the clock. It's already nine am and I have to be at the hotel at noon. With one final yawn, I climb out of bed and throw my hotel-worthy robe over my nightgown before heading out towards the kitchen.

The house is silent, with no sign of Amelia anywhere. There is no coffee in the pot, nor any indication that there has been since yesterday.

"That's weird," I say to myself, and bend down to get the bag of coffee out of the cupboard.

"What's weird?" a familiar voice asks from behind me. My head smacks into the bottom of the counter as I jump up in surprise. I rub what is sure to be a large knot on my skull and turn around to meet Pam's amused eyes.

"Pam!" I shriek, dropping the bag of coffee in my hands. "What are you doing here?"

"I would think that would be obvious," she says with a laugh as she sweeps a hand down the length of her body. I look down for the first time, and have to stop my eyes from bugging out at her attire, or rather, lack thereof. She is wearing the shortest nightgown I've ever seen, and it is apparent that she has nothing on underneath. "I was hoping to get a cup of coffee." She inclines her head towards the lonely bag of grounds sitting on the floor and I quickly bend down and grab it, turning back to the pot and avoiding looking at the nipples that are staring in me the face.

"Where's Amelia?" I ask, refusing to turn around as I fill the carafe with water.

"She's in bed." I hear Pam move behind me and know that she has taken a seat on one of the bar stools lining the kitchen counter.

"Really? It's awfully late for Miss Early Bird to be in bed still." I take my time scooping the grounds into the coffee pot. "I hope she's not getting sick," I say, then curse myself for my stupidity.

"No," Pam laughs, "she's definitely not getting sick. She had a bit of a, erm, exhausting evening. And morning," she adds.

"Oh." My brain is not functioning enough to form a coherent reply to that. Though, I doubt an intravenous caffeine drip would help on that front.

"We're quite good at that you know, Eric and me."

"Good at what?" I ask and turn around to face her. I force myself to keep my eyes trained on hers.

"Exhausting beautiful women."

"That's, erm, nice." Really, what am I supposed to say back to that?

"It is rather," she says with a nod. "And if my brother is lucky, he'll get to show you exactly how nice it is."


	8. Chapter 8: Poser

**AN: **More surfer! Thanks again to everyone out there who is reading – you're the best! :D

**

* * *

~~Chapter 8: ****Poser ~~**

The table in the conference room is full by the time I walk through the open doorway with Claudine on Monday morning. We had been stalled at the concierge desk by a young family who stopped to ask directions to Waikiki, which turned into fifteen minutes of me holding a three year old who had done her best to pull my hair out by the roots. Needless to say, I am not looking my best.

By the time we make it to the conference room, we are five minutes late and Pam is in the middle of a statistics lecture. There are only two empty seats in the room – one next to Pam and the other in the back, next to two of the chefs from the kitchen. I have no desire to sit at the front of the class, and slide into the chair at the back of the room. I mumble a quick hello to my seat neighbors as I sit down and place my notebook on the table in front of me.

"Glad you two could make it," Pam says as Claudine sits down. "Hope we didn't keep you from something important."

"Sorry." I flash Pam an apologetic smile and slink down in my chair. Being scolded in front of my co-workers isn't exactly how I want this meeting to go.

"Yes, well try to be here on time next time."

"Don't you worry about her," the man next to me whispers conspiratorially. I can't remember the names of half of the people I met last week, but there is no forgetting Lafayette Reynolds. Not only is he the head chef at one of the three restaurants on the property, but he's the only person I met who doesn't seem to care about the uniform. Instead of the crisp white shirts all the other culinary staff is wearing, Lafayette is in a hot pink and black striped tank top, with strategic holes and more gold jewelry than I've ever seen anyone wear.

"What's that?" I whisper.

"Don't you worry about Pam," he repeats. "She just likes to let her bitch out in these meetings."

I somehow manage to stop myself from laughing and turn my attention back to Pam, who is passing out a packet of information to the group. As soon as everyone has theirs, Pam turns it over to Amelia for the next part of the meeting.

"We have a large conference booked at the property starting a month from today. As you all know, this event is one of the largest at the resort, not to mention all the referrals we can and will get from the various event planners that will be attending. I know they are rather…" she trails off. "Trying. Yes trying is a good word, but we all know that we can't afford to lose something like this in this economy."

I do my best to stay focused over the next twenty minutes as Amelia goes over the schedule of the conference and the responsibilities of each department, which is increasingly difficult thanks to Lafayette's running commentary on everything she says. I don't say anything in response, because I know that I would totally be the one who got caught and scolded, but that doesn't stop him. By the end of the meeting, I know something I shouldn't about just about every person in the room.

As soon as the meeting is dismissed, Lafayette follows Claudine and me back to the front desk, and proceeds to make himself comfortable.

"So," he says, cocking his hip against the counter, "pretty Sookie Stackhouse, I hear you was on the beach with that fine-assed Eric Northman on Friday night."

"I guess," I groan and shake my head. I'm not surprised that Lafayette knows about that, not after what he had told me about everyone else over the last thirty minutes. No amount of secrecy could stop someone like Lafayette from finding that out.

"You guess?" he asks with a laugh. "Either you was or you wasn't. Ain't no guessin' when it comes to someone like Eric Northman."

"I mean, yes, I was with him on the beach. But-"

"So you was. With him? Mmm." He pushes off from his perch and takes a step closer to me. "Is he as good a kisser as they say he is?"

Claudine is watching the entire scene with rapt attention, her head going back and forth between Lafayette and me like she's watching a tennis match. She had tried to pry information out of me all weekend, but I had managed to keep my mouth shut beyond a yes and a no.

"I'll bet he is," she interjects.

"I wouldn't know!" I say, a bit too loudly. "I mean, he didn't kiss me."

Lafayette's eyes widen with what appears to be shock, and he makes a sort of clucking sound with his tongue. He looks startled and completely puzzled as he looks me up and down.

"He didn't? Hmm, I would've pegged you for his type, what with those big breasts and that wide eyed innocence." I swear I'm going to die one of these days. My breasts are not a topic of conversation I want to have with anyone, and certainly not as they pertain to Eric Northman's liking, or not liking them. "I mean, if I played for your team sugar, I'd be all over you."

Really, what am I supposed to say to that?

"He didn't kiss you?" Claudine asks. I look over to see a similar expression of shock and disbelief on her face. "He followed you out to the beach and didn't kiss you?"

"No." Why is this so hard for them to comprehend? "He did not kiss me."

"Did he even try? I can't imagine my boy Eric not at least trying."

"Um… no, we just talked." He might have tried to kiss me if I'd given him an inch; as it was, the hand holding he'd done had been more than enough to keep my dream self occupied. I can't imagine what I would be like if he'd actually kissed me.

"You got Eric Northman to sit on the beach and just talk?" Claudine asks. "Oh sweet lord that is precious. What did you talk about?"

"Nothing in particular," I say, and cross my arms over my chest. It is a text book defensive maneuver, but they've raised my hackles. "We just talked. Honest."

"And he didn't try to get into your pants?"

"No." Well, not really. "We're friends." Sort of.

At that, both Claudine and Lafayette throw their heads back in laughter. Lafayette manages to gain control of himself first and wipes a stray tear off his cheek.

"Honey, Eric Northman does not have any friends that look like you." His eyes dip down to my breasts again, and it takes every ounce of control for me to not cover myself with my hands. "Hell, he ain't got no friends that have breasts at all. Isn't that right, Claudine?"

For a second I wonder if Claudine is even breathing, her perfect face is so purple, but then she nods. "I've never known him to have a friend that's a girl besides Pam and Amelia," she says between gasps of air. "Girlfriends? Tons. But not girls as friends."

There is a first time for everything. I shrug my shoulders and turn my attention back to a stack of pamphlets sitting on the counter. The news isn't surprising, and it's not upsetting either. Well, at least not too upsetting. It's not as if I hadn't suspected as much. "Well, we're friends. Or, at least, trying to be."

"I'm sure that isn't all that he's trying for," Claudine says from behind me.

"Well, friends is all we're going to be," I say indignantly, and turn around to look her square in the eye. "I don't know why you find that so hard to believe."

"Fine," she says with a laugh, "you're friends with Eric Northman. There's a first for everything. Now, since you're friends, why don't you head down there and fill him in on the meeting?" I don't say anything. I am frozen at the thought of having to confront Eric, to test the theory I'd come to in the middle of the night.

"Unless, of course," Claudine says, interrupting my panic attack, "you're not friends with him after all."

"Of course I am!" I practically shout. "I mean, of course we are."

Perhaps I'd never be the vixen I had hoped, but maybe I'd be able to do something else the old Sookie never would and actually be friendly with males that I wasn't dating. Or, at least I could try.

…

I feel like I'm going to melt by the time I make it out to the beach. I should be used to the heat coming from Louisiana, but it feels stifling today. There isn't a breeze in sight, and the uniform's dress doesn't exactly breathe in the first place. By the time I make it down to the beach, there is a trail of perspiration down my back. I feel breathless, and I am sure it has everything to do with the heat, and nothing to do with the anticipation of seeing Eric in his board shorts again.

Every single lounge chair and cabana appears to be in use, either by the guest themselves or the beach bags of the more adventurous guests who are out in the water. I weave through the beachgoers with determined measure, wishing that I could join them as they run towards the water. A nice swim sounds like a fantastic idea, but it's an idea that I'm not going to be able to follow through on until much, much later in the day. There are still six hours left in my work day, and that's if I get out on time. At least I get to spend the majority of my day in the cool air conditioning. I think I would melt if I had to work outside, or I'd at least want to shave my head like Britney.

I am almost to the rental shack when I hear my name called out, and look up to see Alcide walking towards me. He looks unbelievably good in his board shorts; I can't even imagine how much time he has to spend at the gym to have a body that looks like that. Me? I can't be bothered to do more than a few minutes a day on Amelia's treadmill, which is why I still have some lumpy spots and a long way to go before I am anywhere close to Alcide's perfection.

"Hey," he says with a smile and stops next to me. "I wasn't sure I was going to see you again. Sorry about leaving last night, something, erm unexpected came up." He runs a hand through his dark hair, stopping to palm the back of his neck.

"Nothing serious, I hope?" I ask. I know exactly what came up, but I certainly don't know Alcide well enough to bring that up.

"No. Nothing serious." He walks over to the shack and leans across the counter to grab a towel. I barely contain my drool as he runs the towel over the muscles on his stomach. I may not be interested in him in that way, and I'm certainly not the kind of girl that can enter into a casual agreement, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the view.

"How are you fitting in up at the big house?" he asks, and tilts his head towards the main building.

"Good," I nod. "Great actually. It's great to be back working in the industry, and I can't complain about the property itself."

"Yeah, Eric and Pam run a great shop." He walks to the doorway of the small building and invites me inside. I follow him in and am pleasantly surprised to find that it's air conditioned as well.

"They certainly do," I say and sit down on a backless stool against the open counter.

"So, what can I do you for?" he asks, hopping onto the stool next to mine. "Or are you just out checking on the property?"

"Oh, um, no actually. Pam and Amelia asked me to come talk to you and Eric about the conference next month. I guess they want to schedule an activity day and you two handle that?" He nods. "Where is Eric anyway?" My voice is unreasonably high pitched as I ask that question, and I want to kick myself for feeling any sort of anticipation on seeing him again. As a friend, I remind myself. I'm excited to see him again as a friend.

"He's out on the beach giving a lesson." Alcide leans in close to me and points towards the far edge of the property's bay. I search the mass of people and stop when I see Eric. His long hair is hanging loose around his face, and I watch as he tucks it back behind his ears. My eyes skim down his body, taking in his golden chest and navy swim trunks before I can stop myself. He looks better than I remember him looking that first day on the beach, though I had been so flustered that it's not a surprise I don't have a better memory.

I frown when a petite brunette steps into my line of vision, moving so close to Eric that I wouldn't be surprised if the triangles of her bikini weren't brushing against his arm.

"Who's that out there with him?" I ask, not taking my eyes off of the scene unfolding in front of me. Eric hasn't moved an inch and smiles down at the woman in question. I can see from here that it is one of those devastating smiles that make my head go light. "I don't think I've seen her yet."

"Sophie-Anne Leclerq," Alcide says, "she's one of our repeat customers. She must visit the resort at least three times a year."

"Oh?"

"Yep," Alcide nods, "she always comes with her assistant Andre and stays for a few weeks. And she always requests that Eric gives her surfing lessons."

It didn't look like that was all Eric gave her, judging by their body language. I scowl behind my oversized sunglasses as she runs her hand down Eric's bicep and steps even closer. He laughs at something she says and shakes his head, taking a step back and picking up a surfboard.

"You'd think she would know something by now," Alcide adds.

"What do you mean?" I peel my eyes away from the scene in front of me and look at Alcide.

"Nothing really. Just that even the worst student I ever had was better after one lesson than Sophie-Anne is after a dozen or more."

I frown and look back at the two of them. Sophie-Anne is now lying down on the board, looking over her shoulder at Eric who is crouched over her, his feet on either side of her body. The look on her face is predatory and hungry, and she visibly shudders when Eric places his large hand on her bare back.

Their touch makes me want to scream, first at them and then at myself for caring what he does. The scene unfolding in front of me shouldn't upset me. We aren't even friends. Well, not yet anyway. And I have turned him down twice now. He can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants without my opinion.

That's what a good friend would think after all.

Now, I just had to figure out how to be a good friend.


	9. Chapter 9: Back Down

**Chapter 9: Back Down**

Call me cowardly, but I do my best to avoid Eric after my reaction at the beach. Despite my revelation that we could never be anything more than friends, I didn't like seeing him being handsy all over that guest. I mean, sure, it's his job to instruct people how to surf, and as a friend I shouldn't care what he does with any girl. I didn't. I don't. I just have to remind myself that I do not care that he's ridiculously attractive. It doesn't hurt to remind myself that he's cocky and arrogant too. Actually, the second reminder is much better than the first as far as I'm concerned.

Either way, in my state of mind, it's best to steer clear of him entirely. That's not an easy task.

The problem with working someone that you're trying to avoid is that you will inevitably see them everywhere; and I saw him everywhere. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was sponsored by Visa, and everywhere I want to be.

One week went by with nothing but cursory hellos on my part, and quizzical eyebrow raises on his. Hell, I pay more attention to Arlene than I do to Eric, and I'm fairly convinced that Arlene wants to make a pair of earrings out of my eyeballs. But it appears that even my persistent avoidance isn't enough to deter him.

It is ridiculous the way my stomach flutters whenever I see him. You would think that I have never laid eyes upon a man that doesn't have a hunchback and a wonky eye the way I feel around him. In all reality, Eric Northman shouldn't inspire me to feel anything at all. Yet, every time I convince myself to act like an adult and talk to him, I remember the way I felt when I saw him on the beach with that brunette. But there is no avoiding the topic anymore, not when the guests will be arriving in ten days.

The upcoming conference has swallowed the majority of my time, between coordinating with the kitchens and Portia Bellefleur, who is the contact for the event planning association coming to use the property. The general schedule of events has been in place for a few months, but I have spent hours upon hours on the telephone arranging their activities down to the minute, and coordinating the hotel's staff accordingly. All but Eric. He's the last missing piece.

I close the door to the spare office and pick up the receiver of the telephone. With one quick you-can-do-it! and a deep breath, I press the extension down to the beach shack.

"This is Eric," his deep voice says after less than two rings.

I can't breathe. I shut my eyes. "Hi Eric, it's-"

"Sookie Stackhouse?" I hear the grin in his voice. "Is that you?"

"Um, yeah. I mean, yes, it's Sookie."

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Sookie?" His words ooze with innuendo.

"Oh I'm not sure you're going to think it's a pleasure once I tell you," I say, and silently groan at my attempt at flirtation.

"Anything to do with you is a pleasure."

"Yeah, well… um, I was hoping you had some time tomorrow to go over the upcoming conference with me? We need to figure out what times work best for their beach day."

He is silent for a minute and I hear the rustling of paper in the background. "I'm booked with lessons most of the day," he says, "but I could fit you in over lunch. Noonish at Molokai?"

"That works." Lunch is a great idea. All that food to occupy my attention on top of what we're meeting for. He won't even have time to bring up anything else.

"Perfect. It's a date."

"It's not a date. It's-"

"See you tomorrow Sookie." I groan and clench the phone tightly against my ear when I hear the dial tone. He's just trying to get under my skin, and he can't get there unless I let him.

…

Eric is seated at a table outside when I arrive at Molokai. He is playing with his cell phone, and doesn't look up until I'm nearly at the table, which is a good thing since I pretty much forget how to walk as soon as he smiles at me.

He stands up and pulls out the chair next to him. "Hi Sookie," he says, and leans forward to brush a kiss across my cheek. "I was wondering if you'd keep me waiting."

"Sorry, I got delayed with a customer." A customer who couldn't comprehend why the hotel didn't have feather beds for her two Pekinese dogs.

He nods and takes his seat, leaning forward on his elbows without taking his eyes from me. "You look nice today."

"Thank you."

"You've looked nice every day I've seen you, though you haven't given me the chance to tell you that."

I am so not prepared to have this conversation with him now; I doubt I will ever be. I laugh, and hope that the nerves that are currently playing Pong in my body aren't apparent in the sound. "Are you ready for the conference?" I ask, hoping he'll follow my lead on the subject change.

He doesn't.

He sits back in his seat and clasps his hands over his stomach – the stomach, mind you, that I am trying hard not to remember what it looks like without a shirt covering it, despite my constant reminder that he is my boss and nothing more than a possible friend.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asks after a minute.

"What do you mean?" Of course I'm afraid of him! He's the big bad wolf and the boogey man all rolled up into one.

"You've been avoiding me like the plague ever since we agreed to be friends."

"I haven't-" He noticed. I was wondering if he would.

"You have," he smiles. "I'd say it hurt my feelings, but I don't think you'd believe that."

"That you have feelings?" I ask with a laugh. Maybe being flippant will get him to change the subject. "You're probably right."

"Ouch. Why don't you tell me how you really feel?" he asks with a laugh. "But as much as I don't like them, even I have to admit to having feelings every now and then. And I'd say they're on the brink of being affected by the way you've been avoiding me. So I will ask again, why is that Sookie?"

"I haven't been avoiding you Eric." Not that I'll admit at least. "I've, um, been busy." God, that sounds like a pathetic excuse, mainly because it is. But I can't come out and tell him that I had decided it was best to steer clear of him after my reaction to seeing him with that brunette on the beach. That would surely make me sound insane.

"I'm sure you have," he nods. "But that doesn't explain why you run for cover every time I see you. I thought you were going to fall down the stairs yesterday you ran so fast." I hadn't thought he'd spotted me. Guess I'm not as smooth as I think. "Am I that frightening?" He smiles, and a part of me wants to throw all caution to the wind.

"Of course not." Absolutely. I try to imagine him as the Staypuft Marshmallow Man, which does wonders for my general anxiety.

"Good," he says with a nod. "I'm sure you think it's all a line of bullshit, but there is something about you that intrigues me. I'd hate to not get the chance to find out what that is." He reaches out and grabs the glass of cool ice water sitting on the table, the condensation on the glass leaving tiny drops of water in its path to his lips. I can't tear my eyes away from the glass as it reaches his mouth, or the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

"Perhaps it's the fact that I didn't faint at the sight of you?" The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. I curse myself for losing my sense of professionalism, but can't help but smirk when he makes a choking noise. That smirk is wiped off my face when he sets the water back on the table and wipes the corner of his mouth with his bare fingers. I find myself wondering what those fingers would feel like on my lips before I can stop myself. This is exactly why I can't be in the same room with him.

"What's that?"

"Nothing." I shake my head and reach for the napkin, admonishing myself for crossing that line again.

"I don't think so," he says and reaches out to grab my hand before it can get the napkin. I startle at his touch and my eyes fly up to meet his. "What did you say?"

"Eric." I try to pull my hand away, but he refuses to let go.

"Sookie," he responds and tightens his grip. "Were you flirting with me, right there?"

Yes. Yes I was. But damned if I am going to admit it. I choose to say nothing at all.

"It is true," he continues. His thumb runs across the inside of my wrist, sending tingling sensations to parts of my body that definitely should not be affected by my boss. "I am used to a certain, shall we say, behavior from women."

I snort before I can stop myself, then cover my mouth with my free hand.

Eric shrugs and continues his torturous treatment of my wrist. "And the fact that you didn't behave that way is certainly part of your appeal."

"Lucky me," I groan and manage to pull my wrist free as the waitress comes up to the table. I pray that she didn't see it. The last thing I need is a rumor going around that I'm getting busy with the GPD.

Eric stares at me the entire time the waitress takes our order, not even looking away when he rambles off his request for the fish tacos. I can feel myself blushing under his assessing gaze, but refuse to meet his eyes until the pretty blond waitress is at the next table.

"Eric!" I quietly scold him, finally looking at him. "Please stop looking at me like that. Do you want the entire staff to think there is something going on between us?" He shrugs. I groan and shut my eyes, rubbing my temples to alleviate the headache that is forming before it can get going.

"Look," I say, and reopen my eyes, "you may not care what the world thinks about you, but I do. I'm new here, and I already have a cloud hanging over my head since everything thinks Amelia handed me this job, which technically is true. I certainly don't need anyone to think that I'm sleeping with the boss on top of that."

"I wouldn't mind," he smirks.

"Eric!" I try to keep my shriek to a respectable level, but manage to catch the attention of the people at the next table.

"Okay, okay," he says. "I can see your point. But I don't think anyone is going to say anything if we're having lunch together."

"They will if you keep looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to eat me." Shit. Poor choice of words. His chuckle furthers my embarrassment and I'm fairly sure I'm a heretofore unknown shade of red.

"This isn't going nearly how I imagined it would go," I say, barely above a whisper.

"How did you expect it to go?" He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table.

"I… well, not like this at least. I was hoping I wouldn't completely put my foot in my mouth, but that seems to be a recurring thing around you."

"It's charming."

"Not particularly." I grab the notebook sitting next to my glass of water and begin to flip the pages in hopes that I can focus myself. The words are nothing but blurry spots before my eyes, but I feel myself begin to calm down with each turn of the page. When I manage to collect myself, I look up at Eric and find him watching me intently. He returns my tentative smile without a word.

"I, uh, have been working with Alcide on the schedule for the convention a bit."

He sighs - yes, actually sighs - and folds his hands in his lap. "That's what he mentioned."

"Yes, well, um…we have most everything lined out, and I wanted to go over everything and get your approval."

"I'm sure it's fine."

I ignore the dismissive tone in his voice and continue. I am sure that I can make it through this lunch without much more embarrassment if I can just stay on track. "We tentatively scheduled beach activities on Wednesday morning. That will be their second full day at the property, which should give everyone sufficient time to decide on their activity."

He makes a sort of grunting noise and nods.

"We decided to offer paddle boarding, kayaking and surf lessons for the more adventurous members of the convention."

"Sounds perfectly acceptable."

I nod and take a deep breath. Eric isn't making this easy with his short responses. "Alcide and I thought we could schedule six groups of five for the lessons. You'd each take out a group at nine, ten-thirty and noon." He shrugs. "Does that sound like a manageable number of people?"

"Sure."

"They have a formal dinner that night, so we will need to make sure that we stay on schedule."

"Sookie."

"Yes?" I have my chipper smile plastered on my face.

"Do we really need to talk about this? Alcide is completely competent in setting the schedule for these types of things. He's usually the one that does."

"Well, Amelia said I needed to finalize everything with you."

"Did she?" he asks with a smirk. "Go figure. I never would have pegged her for being in my corner."

I don't have a chance to ask what he means right away, since the waitress chooses the exact moment his words are spoken to deliver our food. She places my salad down with an unceremonious plop, then turns to Eric and sets his tacos down almost reverently. She hovers for an unnecessarily long amount of time, looking at Eric in a manner that I suspect is eerily similar to the way he had been looking at me for her first visit.

"Thanks, Tanya," he says dismissively and begins to pile the toppings onto his tacos.

"Anything else I can get for you, Eric?" she asks, and completely ignores me. I don't mind particularly, at least with her standing here I have the opportunity to figure out what Eric meant about Amelia; or at least, to try and figure out why Amelia sent me on this pointless mission.

She has been acting a bit weird ever since the party at Pam's house, though with Amelia you can never really peg a particular behavior as normal so I haven't thought much of it. What could she possibly mean to accomplish by forcing me to meet with Eric? I had told her we had agreed to be friends, and that had been the last we'd spoken of it. But this wasn't a friend set up, not by any means.

Which is odd, considering that Amelia was the one who told me that I needed to avoid relationships – not, of course, that I was thinking about Eric in a relationship sense. He is my boss, not to mention the kind of guy who has probably been in and out of more beds than I care to think about. There is no way she is pushing me towards Eric on a non-professional level, is there?

"So," Eric says, pulling me out of my internal debate, "Amelia told you that you needed to meet with me?"

I nod. "So did Pam."

"Interesting." He takes a bite of his taco and chews thoughtfully before continuing. "Any reason you can think of?"

"Not really." Oh sure, if I really think about it, I'm sure I can come up with a few reasons. I can imagine the conversations Amelia and Pam have had about me and Eric. In the short time I've known Pam, I've learned that she is Amelia's match in every way, shape and form.

"I can think of a few." When I don't respond, he continues. "Care to hear them?"

"No!" I squeal and quickly grab my fork, shoving a mouthful of salad between my lips. Despite the idea formulating in my head, I certainly don't want to hear it cross his lips.

He laughs and takes another bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully. "Pam has been talking about you quite a lot lately," he says.

"Yes, well I'm sure that as a new employee, what I do is of interest to her."

"She never talks to me about employees," he says and shakes his head.

"Oh." Fuck. I am so right. This is all Pam and Amelia's doing; their sick, twisted doing, throwing the two of us at each other as if we wouldn't figure it out. Good news for me, I can play dumb with the best of them. "Well, even so, I'm sure the Amelia connection has something to do with it."

"Yeah, I'm sure it does." His eyes are narrowed briefly, as if he is deep in thought, and then he gives me a lopsided smile. "Not that I'm complaining that she's pushing you at me, of course, though I do have to object to them thinking we're so easily manipulated."

I have no response, and instead shove more salad into my mouth.

"I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever get the opportunity to speak with you again." I try to smile, and slow down my chewing. Keeping my mouth full is my only defense. "It was a little disconcerting Sookie, the way you stayed away from me, especially after we agreed to be friends."

The way he says friends flusters me down to the tips of my toes. There is so much behind that word that is unspoken, from the way his voice drops to the way his eyes dip below my chin. I swallow, and it feels like I'm going to choke.

"Haven't we had this conversation?" I ask with a laugh, trying to dismiss the change in topic again.

"I tried to," he shrugs. "You didn't want to play."

"It's not that I didn't want to play-" I start, and am immediately interrupted.

"So you want to play?" He quirks his eyebrow in a manner that can only be defined as downright cocky.

I roll my eyes to stop myself from laughing. As much as I want to not like him, I can't deny that he is amusing. And for as uncomfortable as I felt at the beginning of the conversation, just being with him is enough to set me at ease. There is a certain camaraderie between us, knowing that we've both been pawns in Amelia and Pam's minds. "Eric."

"Sorry," he shrugs. "Do continue. You wanted to play?"

"Do you treat all your friends like this?" I ask, this time completely unable to contain my laughter. His ability to turn anything into innuendo is nothing short of amazing, and I can hardly be anything but amused at this stage. He has managed to make my discomfort at the topic disappear, much as he had that night on the beach.

He shrugs. "Just the attractive ones."

"I thought you said you didn't have friends that were female."

"I don't."

"Just me?"

"Are we friends, then?" he asks, his tone turning serious again.

This is the moment where I can make that decision. I can end it before it even starts, or I can continue down the path that will inevitably be bumpy. I can sit here and analyze it forever, or I can go with my gut. The image of the red notebook Amelia had given to me flashes before my eyes, a reminder of what I was trying to accomplish here; of who I wanted to be. The old Sookie is pushing me to get out as quickly as I can, which only means I can have one response.

"I'd like to be." My voice is so quiet I can barely hear myself, but it is loud enough for Eric.

"So, no more ducking behind potted plants whenever you see me?" he asks with a smirk.

"I never did that!"

He raises his eyebrow quizzically and surveys me in silence.

"I didn't," I repeat. "But I promise that if the opportunity comes up again, I will not hide behind any greenery at all."

"Good," he says with a nod and picks up his taco to take a bite. After he chews and swallows, he adds, "So friend, how many more weeks until you're dating?"

I groan and shake my head with a laugh. "You can't leave well enough alone can you?" I ask before taking a bite of my salad.

"Not when it comes to you."


	10. Chapter 10: Looking for some Shade

**AN:** It's Thursday again? What? These weeks are just flying by. Thanks to everyone for the positive response to last chapter. I swear Sookie means it when she says she'll be his friend this time! :D

**

* * *

~~Chapter 10: Looking for some Shade~~**

"What are you still doing here?"

I look up from the stack of paperwork I've been organizing to see Eric leaning against the door jamb of the office next to Amelia's; the office I have taken over since being put on the conference.

"Oh, hey Eric," I say, tucking my long bangs behind my ear. I look at the clock over Eric's head and let out a frustrated sigh. Where had the time gone? It is already ten pm. I was supposed to leave at eight.

Eric crosses the office in three of his long steps and sits down on the seat across from me, propping one ankle up on his knee.

"You've been a busy woman, Sookie Stackhouse," he says, and points to the paperwork strewn across the desk.

"Yeah," I say, and take a deep breath. Maybe allowing myself a short break will make these numbers make sense; God knows they've looked like ancient Greek to me for the last twenty minutes. "Portia Bellefleur is one demanding woman."

"Yeah, she is," Eric says. I look up sharply to see him smiling at me. Granted, I haven't met Portia Bellefleur in the flesh, and have no idea if she's Eric's type…if Eric even has a type, but I'm curious as to how well he's acquainted with her.

"Know that first hand, do you?" I ask with a smirk.

"I do indeed," he replies, with a wink. "But not, and I think it's rather fortunate, the way you are imagining. She was in one of our group surf lessons last year. Portia's not really my type, no matter how fond I'm growing of her accent."

I feel myself blush, something I've done countless times in the past ten days, since I had decided to be friends with him. He hadn't let up on the incessant flirting; I don't know how many times he's informed me of how sexy he thinks my accent is. And, in retaliation, and in an effort for self defense, I have taken to responding by taunting him about his reputation.

I try to brush aside his compliment. "Is she as charming in person as she is on the phone?"

"Even more so," he laughs.

"Fantastic," I say under my breath. As soon as Portia had realized I was from Louisiana, she had glommed onto me, insisting that I be her primary point of contact. I had received fifteen calls from her today alone, a pretty average number over the last week.

"Nah, don't let her get under your skin. She's all bark and no bite."

"To you maybe," I say, and lean back in my chair. "But unfortunately, I'm not a tall, good looking man."

"You think I'm good looking do you?" he asks, and waggles his eyebrows at me comically.

"Of course not," I say and roll my eyes. "You're a troll and you know it."

"Sookie, Sookie, Sookie," he shakes his head. "You're so flattering. Whatever would I do without you?"

"I'm sure you'd figure something out. In fact, I am positive that Arlene would be willing to help you out," I add with a smirk. Just yesterday, Arlene had practically fallen off a ladder trying to impress Eric when we had returned from lunch. She hadn't been too happy when she found out that Eric and I had formed a truce of some sorts. If I thought she hadn't liked me before, I realized there was a new level of dislike underneath those flaming red roots.

"I'm sure she would," he says, then visibly shudders. "No thank you."

I look back at the clock and then back at Eric. "What are you still doing here anyway, Mr. Surf Instructor? Big waves at night?"

He shrugs and uncrosses his legs. "I had some paperwork I needed to get through. And I didn't want to leave you alone here with Godfrey on the loose."

Mr. Godfrey is one of the hotel's best customers. He spends at least one week out of every month on site, and he just happens to be one of the biggest creeps I've ever met. He had checked in for a two week stay three days ago, where I had my first run in with him. Amelia had warned me that he was a bit on the lecherous side, but apparently was so well connected that it was decided that it was best to let that behavior be excused. The hotel had an unspoken policy that there had to be at least one male staff member in the executive offices at all times during Mr. Godfrey's stay to help alleviate any issues that may arise from his penchant to walk on the wrong side of the sexual harassment side. I hadn't had the fortune – or misfortune as it may have been – to interact with Mr. Godfrey beyond our introduction, but I had plenty of experience with his type.

"As much as I appreciate the sentiment Eric, I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can," he replies. "But you don't know Godfrey, and I like to say better safe than sorry. Besides, what can I say? I can't stay away." He gives me a goofy smile, and I know that it's in part to make me change subjects. "Not when we're so close to your two month mark."

"Eric!" I say, but can't stop myself from smiling. "When you are going to stop with the two month thing?"

"After you go on a date with me," he shrugs.

"I'm not going to go on a date with you, Northman."

"Yes you will," he says with a knowing smile.

"No," I emphasize, "I won't." I can't. Even if I'm less than a month away from that magical two month date where I can date again, I'm not ready to date anyone, much less Eric Northman.

"When are you going to tell me about what happened to you?" he asks, leaning forward.

"What do you mean what happened to me?" I ask with a frown.

"With men. Something must've happened to turn you off men."

"I'm not turned off men," I say. "I'm just on dating hiatus."

"For any particular reason?"

"None that I'm going to tell you," I say. It's not the first time he's asked me about this, and I don't think it'll be the last. However, telling Eric Northman about my dating history isn't high on my priority list.

"You will," he says with confidence. "Maybe not right now, but you will. What are you working on anyway?"

"Portia sent some changes to the attendees two hours ago. It seems they have fifteen more people coming than she had initially told us. I'm just trying to work out where to put them."

"Do we have the rooms?" Eric asks, tilting my computer screen in his direction to see what I've been working on.

"Yes," I nod. "Amelia said that this was a possibility, so she'd blocked out an additional twenty rooms just in case in the contract."

"Smart girl."

"That she is," I smile. "But apparently one of the guys coming now is a bigwig in the organization, and they want him to have a nicer room, so I've got to figure out where to shift everyone. I've been looking at this for so long, I'm going cross eyed."

"Isn't Claudine supposed to be doing the rooming assignment?"

"She is," I nod. "And she has, I just thought I would help her out and get this done."

"Let me take a look at it," he says, and stands up to walk around my desk. He comes to a stop next to my chair, and leans over me, covering my hand on the mouse with his own. I quickly pull my own hand out from under his. If I thought my concentration was bad before, this is an entirely different level. I had tried not to think of Eric as attractive – or at least, tried to tell myself not to think of him that way – and had managed to be somewhat successful, but it is practically impossible when his body is enveloping my own. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, filling my head with Eric's scent. He smells of sandalwood and the ocean. I somehow manage to stifle the groan that is threatening to escape my lips. When I gather myself, I reopen my eyes to see him moving things about on my spreadsheet.

"There!" he says, triumphantly. "Done. Mr. Edgington now has the Turtle Bay Suite."

"Where did you move Felipe de Castro then?" I ask, looking over my shoulder sharply. Eric's face is mere inches from mine, and I am mesmerized by the depths of his eyes so close. Shit. I pull back, leaning as far away as I can in my chair.

He gives me a knowing smile, and then looks back at the computer. "He's in the Hanama Suite."

"I thought Sophie-Anne was using that suite this week."

"Sophie-Anne is checking out today," he says, matter-of-factly. "She wasn't too happy with my feedback today and stormed out."

"What happened?"

"I told her that I didn't think our lessons were necessary anymore. She's been a repeat customer for a long time now, and can't quite grasp the concept. Our goals weren't exactly going in the same direction," he says, looking pointedly at me.

I gasp. From what Alcide had told me, and from what I had seen on the beach, it had appeared that Sophie-Anne was much more than Eric's pupil. What does it mean that he stopped seeing her? From the way he was looking at me, there was no doubt that he was trying to convey a message to me. I look back at the computer, then look back at Eric.

"That's rather harsh, don't you think?" My voice sounds squeaky, but it's the best I can do when my heart can only be described as irregular.

He shrugs. "I recently decided that I needed to realign my priorities, and Sophie-Anne, as good of a customer as she is, can no longer be a priority."

I open my mouth, then close it when I realize I have nothing to say to that. There is no doubt in my mind that he is trying to tell me that he's broken his relationship with Sophie-Anne for my benefit. The way he is looking at me, waiting for my response, tells me as much.

"Oh," I say finally, then shake my head. "Are you sure that was a good idea?"

"From where I'm standing, it was the only decision to make. If I am going to get what I want, then I can't have her type of distraction anymore," he says. He moves imperceptibly closer to me. I turn back to look at the computer, far too uncomfortable with having his face that close to mine, and don't know if I'm imagining things when I think he smells my hair before pulling back and returning to the empty seat he had vacated.

"Um," I start uncertainly. "Thanks for your help on that Eric. That takes a lot off my plate."

"I'm happy to help you Sookie. In any way I can. Was that the last person you had to shuffle?"

I look down at the last packet of Portia's additions sitting on my desk. There are five more names I haven't had the chance to go through and organize rooms for, but I decide that Claudine can handle them in the morning. I have to be back at the hotel at eleven for check in and stay through the first dinner tomorrow; Claudine is coming in at nine, which will give her plenty of time to sort this out.

"Yes," I say firmly. "Claudine can take care of the rest in the morning."

"Perfect," he says with a bright smile. "Are you going to be ready to go soon then?"

I look at my to-do list. I could stay for another hour or so and mark a few more things off, but after that scene with Eric, I don't think I'll be able to focus knowing he is so near.

"Yes," I say, and force myself to look at him. "I'll be ready in five minutes. I just need to shut this stuff down."

"Okay," he says, and pushes himself out of the chair. "I'll just go log off and I'll meet you back here; take you out to your car."

"That's not necessary," I say. I try not to feel flattered by his attention. The more I am with Eric, the more and more I forget why I need to stay away from him. If he keeps walking me to my car, and checking in on me, I'm afraid that I'll soon forget why he's bad as anything but a friend for me entirely.

"Sookie," he says, stopping on his path to the door and turning around. "You are going to have to get used to me doing things like this for you. You are an employee of the hotel," he emphasizes the word employee. "I look out for everyone that works here; I would do the same for anyone."

He makes it sound so innocent that I wonder if I'm being ridiculous. Amelia had told me how dedicated the staff was to Eric, and Claudine had told me more than once that Eric was the best boss she had ever had.

"Plus," he added. "You're my friend. I don't give that distinction out lightly. And as my friend, you're important to me. I don't want to see anything happen to you. I would do anything to help you. And as _my _friend, I would hope you think the same for me."

That is what I'm worried about. Even after only being his "friend" for less than two weeks, I already find myself wanting to do just that.

.

Portia Bellefleur arrives at the property twenty minutes after I do, which just happens to be two hours before she was expected. I have barely settled myself in for the day when Arlene informs me that I have someone asking for me.

"Who is it?" I ask, looking up from my computer screen.

"I didn't ask," Arlene says. I can tell she's lying.

Portia insists on a tour of the property immediately. Even though the convention has been held here for the past two years, she is adamant that she get a full tour as if she had never seen the property before.

"Things change so often at these resorts," she says, and links her hand through my arm as if we are the best of friends. "I can't tell you how happy I was to find out they brought on a good Southern girl. You just can't find anyone that's easier to deal with, can you?"

I smile, doing my best not to show my annoyance. I had planned on finalizing the details with Lafayette before Portia arrived, but that obviously wasn't going to happen. I would need to depend upon Lafayette and his staff to have everything in order.

"Tell me," Portia says, steering me towards the lobby doors that lead out to the beach, "has there been much staff turnover?"

"I don't believe so," I say, "but as you are aware, I just began here last month."

"Of course," she says, though it's clear she's not paying attention to me as we step outside. Her eyes scan the beach, which looks deserted at the moment. "Tell me, there was the most delightful man working down at the activity center last year. Tall, blond… " she lowers her voice, "incredibly handsome. Is he still here?"

"Eric?" I ask.

"Is that his name?" she says with a giggle. She manages to go from powerful businesswoman to a swooning fourteen year old girl at the mere mention of his name, not that I blame her. Hell, if I was here as a guest, I think I'd get all swoony over Eric too. "I don't remember catching it, but he gave the most fascinating surfing lesson to a few of the girls last year."

"That'd be Eric."

"Mmm, do you know if he's here yet? I'd just love to run some ideas by him directly."

"Oh, I'm sure he'd just love that!" I say and squash the laughter bubbling in my chest. If I can push Portia off on Eric, maybe I can go and finalize with Lafayette after all.

I leave Portia talking to Ginger about the thread count of the towels, and excuse myself to get Eric. He is sitting at the small desk in the activity shack, and looks up with a smile when I call his name over the counter.

"What are you doing here, Sookie?" he asks, and stands up from his desk. He walks over the counter, leaning on his elbows opposite of me. "Couldn't wait to see me?"

I laugh and shake my head. "Something like that. Actually, there's someone here that wants to speak with you."

"Is that so?" he asks, peering around behind me. "I don't see anyone. You don't have to make excuses Stackhouse," he adds with a wink.

"Keep dreaming, Eric," I say, then lean in and lower my voice. "Portia showed up early. She insisted on seeing that 'handsome man that taught surfing'. "

"And you thought of me? I'm flattered."

"I wondered if she meant Alcide at first," I tease, "but she definitely mentioned that he was blond. Different strokes, eh?"

"Ouch," he says mockingly, placing a hand on his chest. "You do know how to hurt me."

"Oh hush," I say, and playfully slap at his arm. "She'll be here in a minute."

"Great," he says with a roll of his eyes. "I can't wait."

"I'm sure you can't. Tell me," I say, looking over my shoulder, "why doesn't she know that you're an owner?"

He shrugs. "I like to keep that secret from people like her. She'd spend all her time wondering why I was teaching surfing instead of doing her bidding. Keeps it simple."

"Don't you think that's-"

"There you are!" Portia interrupts. I grimace at Eric before turning around. Portia's demeanor has changed entirely. She simpers and flutters in Eric's direction, not even looking me in the eye.

"Hello Portia," Eric says from behind me. "What a pleasure it is to see you again."

"I didn't reckon you'd remember little old me," she says, coming to stand next to me at the counter.

"As if I could forget you," he says. "I was wondering if you'd come back." His voice is laden with charm, and even I get a little weak kneed. It is no wonder that he has as many repeat customers as he does if he treats them all like this; or, better, as is the case with Sophie-Anne. I suppose that should be a "was", though the thought of Eric going on the straight and narrow for my sake isn't something I can focus on right now.

I look between the two of them and smile at Portia. "Do you mind if I leave you be for awhile so I can go finalize some of the last minute items?"

"Of course not," Portia says, giving me her first genuine smile. "I'm in good hands."

"Yes you are," I say, then look back at Eric. "Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

"I'm sure there's something," he says with a wink, then turns back to Portia. "Why don't you come inside and get out of that heat?"

I hear her giggle assent as I turn around and head back to the hotel.

.

The next six hours are a whirlwind of activity. Portia returns to the office shortly after I got back from meeting with Lafayette, and I spend the next two hours with her going over all the last minute details. I breathe a sigh of relief when she excuses herself to work down in the arrival greeting area in the lower level lobby, and sit down at the desk in my temporary office to send a flurry of emails to the staff for the evening's activities.

I hear Claudine and Arlene as they check in the conference's attendees. I may not get along with her personally, but I have to admit that Arlene is good with the guests. Claudine pops her head into the office at three-thirty.

"That's the last of them," she says, with a bright smile.

"What are you so happy about?" I ask, eyeing her suspiciously.

"I can't even tell you how happy I am that you have to deal with Portia this year," she says, taking the seat across from my desk. "I had to be her point person last year, and I thought I was going to poke my eyeballs out with all the last minute changes. Let me tell you, you will make best of friends with Chow down in the bar, or you won't make it out alive."

I nod and take a deep breath. As demanding as Portia has been, and will undoubtedly be, I am actually quite excited at the prospect of the conference. For all the hard work that goes into the event, it is nice to see the final product, even with the glitches that will undoubtedly pop up during the week. There is a certain satisfaction to getting the job done at a group event, unlike the day to day activities at the concierge desk. I had been on my way towards heading the event department at the hotel in Dallas before I had fled. I often wonder how different my life could be if I had stayed in Dallas.

"Ah yes," I say, and lock my computer, "I have already had that conversation with Chow. He knows to have a gin and tonic ready for me at nine-thirty tonight."

"Nine thirty?" Claudine asks and laughs. "That will be impressive if you make it that far. Last year I was in the bar at six, and I was the last one there. Good thing Pam doesn't mind if we have a drink or two at these kinds of events."

"Oh it can't be that bad," I say.

.

It is, though not for the reasons that Claudine thought it would be.

No, the source of the problem is standing across the large banquet room, chatting with Pam. I had spotted him the minute he crossed the threshold, and had been frozen in place. At first, I had thought I had been imaging things. I had reviewed the list of attendees so many times that I practically had it memorized. I may not remember how to spell Felipe DeCastro's name, but I am sure that I would have remembered if I'd seen his name on the list.

Amelia comes flying at me – discreetly of course – and stops when she reaches my side. "Is that…?"

"Yeah," I say, with a nod. There is no mistaking John Quinn. He had always stood out in a room. If his height wasn't enough to distinguish him, he had a certain aura about him that drew everyone's attention. There are few men in the world that can carry off the entirely bald look, and Quinn was one of them.

"What in the hell is Quinn doing here?"

"I don't know," I say honestly. "I'm as surprised as you are."

"His name wasn't on the list," she starts with a frown, "was it?"

"I think I would have remembered seeing John Quinn on the list," I say, a bit more vehemently than I'd like. I shouldn't feel anything at the sight of John Quinn; we hadn't seen each other in years; he didn't mean anything to me. Yet, I can't deny the shock that is resonating through my body.

"Who?" Claudine asks, coming to a stop next to Amelia.

"John Quinn."

"Oh yeah," she says, absolutely clueless as to the relevance of his name. "He was on Portia's additions that I added this morning. He was one of the ones you asked me to book today."

Of course he was. It is just my luck that I got distracted before running across that tidbit of information.

"Asshole," Amelia grumbles under her breath.

Claudine looks at the man and then back to Amelia with a frown. "Do you know him?"

"Hell yes I know him," Amelia says. "He's the bastard that broke Sookie's heart."

"He is not!" I insist.

"The one you dumped?" Claudine asks, her eyes widening. "The one who proposed to you?"

"No," I shake my head. "A different ex."

"He's an asshole," Amelia repeats. "If I'd known he was going to be here, I would've told Pam to fuck the conference."

"Amelia," I say, trying to sound calmer than I feel. "It's not a big deal." It is, but she doesn't have to know it. "He's a guest. One of three hundred. I doubt we'll even interact with him." I hope I won't have to interact with him. The thought alone makes my stomach hurt.

"Still," she says and growls under hear breath. "If I knew some of those spells I tried back in college, I would so turn him into something. Like a jackass; or a toad; something more appropriate."

"I appreciate your support," I say, and take a deep breath, "but it's going to be okay."

She looks at me skeptically, and then nods. "Okay. You're right. It will be okay. But if it's not, you let me know and I will kick his ass."

"Amelia!" I say.

"It's true," she says with a shrug. "And don't you worry. I will tell Pam that you need to stay behind the scenes on this one. She'll understand. We'll do whatever we can to make sure that he has no clue that you're here."

.

The plan worked for all of two hours. As soon as I was done talking to Amelia, I had ducked back to my office. I could take care of most everything with the combination of my Blackberry and computer. I had handled questions from Portia, Lafayette and Pam without a problem. I had even gone down to peek in on the banquet when I heard the music start – it is much easier to blend into a crowd when they are up and moving then when they are seated.

It wasn't until I was making my way back upstairs when the proverbial shit hit the fan.

"Sookie?" a deep, familiar voice calls from behind me. I freeze on the stairs. "Is that you?" I take a fortifying breath and then turn around.

He looks just like I remember him. His suit is immaculately tailored, and the silver in his tie sets off his unusual violet eyes in the dim light. He looks as confused as I feel as he walks towards me; he stops when he is two steps below me, and we are nearly eye to eye.

"Quinn!" I exclaim as I try to even out my breathing.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, looking behind me for a clue.

"I, um…" I trail off. "I work here."

His brows furrow in confusion. "You moved to Oahu?"

"It appears so," I say with a smile.

"Wow," he says and his face widens with a smile. "I always knew you were destined for bigger things." When I don't say anything, he continues. "It is so good to see you Sookie." His eyes rake down my body, taking in every detail of my attire. I am grateful that Pam required the staff working the event to be in cocktail attire for the party; I don't want Quinn to see me in my uniform quite yet. "You look beautiful."

"Um…" I say, and shift from foot to foot. "Thanks Quinn." I look over my shoulder up the stairs. "I should…uh… get back to work."

"Get a drink with me," he insists. "I've missed you, babe. We need to catch up." He reaches out and places his hand over mine of the banister, and I jump back in shock.

"I can't," I say, shaking my head and walking up the stairs backwards. "I…I've got to go."

"Oh," he says, with a frown, "okay. Can we catch up tomorrow?"

"We'll have to see," I say. "I've got to go Quinn. Bye."

I am up the stairs faster than I thought possible, but instead of going to my office, I make a beeline for the bar in the restaurant.

"Ready for your gin and tonic?" Chow asks when I sit down at a bar stool.

I shake my head. "Make it a tequila shot."

"That bad?" he asks, though grabs a shot glass and begins to fill it.

"Worse."

The first shot does nothing, and I order a second. By the time I'm on my third, my breathing has evened out. I convince myself that it was bound to happen at some point, that I wouldn't have been able to avoid running into Quinn over the week, and that getting it over with earlier was better.

I bury my face in my hands, and nearly jump off my bar stool when I feel a warm hand on my back.

"Whoa!" its owner says, reaching out to grab me before I fall. As soon as my balance is regained, I sit up and turn around.

"Eric!" I exclaim. I don't even want to begin to examine my pleasure at seeing him.

"Who were you expecting?"

"Um… no one. I…"

He looks at the three empty shot glasses in front of me and then turns his attention back to me, his face full of concern. "Everything okay there champ?"

"Not really," I say, and slump against the bar.

"Portia getting under your skin?"

"No," I shake my head.

"Oh," he says, and takes the seat next to me. "Anything I can help with?"

"Not really," I repeat, and shake my head.

"Hmm," he says with a nod. "Well," he leans in, "it looks like you're using one of my favorite problem solvers."

He picks up one of the empty shot glasses and sniffs it. "Tequila?" I nod. "This is more serious than I thought. I know exactly what you need."

"It's not tequila?"

"No," he says with mock solemnity, "though there can be tequila involved. What you need has to be administered by a licensed professional."

"And you, I'm assuming, are the licensed professional in question?"

"Of course," he says, with a nod.

"Is this some joke about you administering yourself to me, professionally?" I ask skeptically. "Cause I can tell you, that ain't happening Eric."

"No," he says with a laugh. "Though I wish I would have thought of that." He shrugs. "But this will require you to leave here with me."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I don't think getting drunk at the hotel is a good idea," he points out. "It's all a matter of perspective."

He's right, and although I'm not drunk yet, I know that if I stay here I will be.

"No funny business?" I ask, wobbling as I stand up.

"Me?" he asks innocently. "What could you possibly have to be worried about from me?"

I scrunch my face at him and take his extended hand. "You're right. It can't be worse than what I've already been through today."

"You are too flattering, Sookie Stackhouse," he says with a chuckle and pulls me to his side.

"What can I say?" I ask and stumble over my feet. "It's part of my charm."

**

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AN:** Thanks again to all those who are reading the trials and tribulations of Surfer Eric. Stay tuned for more to come :D And thanks to pfloogs72 for being a willing and encouraging pre-reader!


	11. Chapter 11: Over the Falls

**AN:** Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing the surfer. I promise they're making some progression! Thanks to pfloogs72 for being my fantastic pre-reader – you should go read her Life Imitating Art if you aren't already!

**

* * *

~~Chapter 11: Over the Falls~~**

I start to laugh as soon as I see Eric's car, and not one of this dainty, flirty girl laughs; this could definitely be considered a guffaw. How I have not seen Eric's car before this, I can't tell you, but as soon as I spot the cherry red Ferrari, all I can think of is Eric with a big Tom Selleck mustache and a Detriot Tigers hat.

"Nice ride, Magnum," I say and laugh even harder than I thought was possible.

He looks over at me and quirks his eyebrow. "Is that your way of asking for a moustache ride?"

If I was sober, I may have been too embarrassed to do anything; but since I am just across the tipsy line, I smack him on the arm. "Hey," I say, as he opens the passenger door and ushers me inside, "I thought we agreed that there wouldn't be any more of that hanky panky stuff."

"You agreed," he says with a smile, and then shuts the door once I'm securely inside. I frown and reach to secure the seatbelt over my body. I vaguely register the sound of Eric opening the driver's door and climbing inside, but it takes nearly all my focus to get the seatbelt aimed in the right direction.

"Here," Eric says with a laugh, "let me help you." And then his hands are covering mine, guiding them with a precision that had disappeared with my second tequila shot.

"Thanks," I say. I sound like I've just run a marathon. Damn alcohol.

He pats the top of my thigh and leans back into his chair to secure his own seatbelt.

"I suppose I should ask you if you'd rather I take you home," he says once the key is in the ignition.

"No, not home," I shake my head vehemently. The last thing I want to do right now is be alone to wallow in self pity. And it's either that, or sit and wait for Amelia to come home; God knows that if I pick the latter, it'll be nothing but a tirade about how much she hates John Quinn. Right now I want to be in a crowd; somewhere I can be anonymous.

"Okay," Eric says, "where do you want to go?"

"I don't know," I say honestly. "Somewhere crowded; anywhere where I don't know people."

"That should be easy enough," he says, and starts the car. He is silent as he pulls out of the property, and doesn't say anything as he drives towards our mystery destination.

I close my eyes and lean back against the headrest. What are the chances? I mean, really, what are the freaking chances that John Quinn would show up at the resort I was working at? There were hundreds of thousands of hotels in the world; why did he have to walk into mine?

I open my eyes when I feel the car slow down. Eric has taken us further along the shore, past where I had explored with Amelia, and pulls into the parking lot of a small, dimly lit building. There are cars everywhere, parked in every conceivable angle; so many cars that it looks like there is no way so many people could fit into such a small building.

"Where are we?" I ask, sitting up straight.

"It's a local place," Eric says, pulling up alongside of a Range Rover and making a parking spot for himself. "Not many tourists venture this far."

He climbs out of the car and is at my door in a flash, opening it and offering me a hand to help me out. I stumble on the gravel beneath my feet and would have probably fallen on my ass if Eric's hand hadn't shot out to steady me.

"You alright there?" he asks, looking down at me with concern.

"Yeah," I nod. "Just a bit…" I trail off. Tipsy? Batshit crazy after seeing my ex-boyfriend?

He nods when he realizes that I'm not going to expand, and takes my hand in his firm grip. "Gotcha," he says, and tugs me forward to shut the car door behind him. "Well, the good news is that I can guarantee you won't know anyone here."

And I don't. Eric, meanwhile, seems to know everyone, and they all greet him with a friendly smile. The interior is much larger than I expected it to be from outside. It is long and narrow, with large doors leading to an even bigger patio. There are people everywhere, and half of them seem to be scrutinizing me.

I look down to see if there was anything wrong with my dress – I wouldn't be surprised if I had spilled something on me in my hasty retreat – but can't see anything out of place. I feel a bit lightheaded when I look back up, and lean into Eric's grip. I feel his body tense against mine before he lets go of my hand and wraps that arm around my waist. I have a feeling that it's as much to support my increasing clumsiness, as to feel me up, but I don't care. I don't think I could stand on my own right now if I had to.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I nod. "I just got dizzy. Nothing major." Nothing that couldn't be explained by the shots I'd insisted upon taking.

"Let's go sit down," Eric says, guiding me towards a table near the bar. "I'll go and get us drinks. Water for you?"

I shake my head. Tipsy wasn't going to cut it for me tonight; I need a hell of a lot more alcohol to erase the memory of seeing Quinn, and to fortify myself for seeing him again. "Gin and tonic, please."

"I don't think you should drink anymore," Eric says, and helps me into the empty chair.

"I don't recall asking you what you thought," I say. Oh, I know I'm being surly, but I have a good excuse. Anyone would do the same after that kind of shock.

"Okay," Eric says, hesitantly. "I'll get you one. I'll be right back, okay?"

I nod, and lean back to watch as he walks up to the bar. It's a shame he's as appealing as he is. Life would be much easier if I wasn't physically attracted to him, and let me tell you, the alcohol only makes me forget why I try so hard to squash that down. From this particular angle, I have an excellent view of his excellent posterior. It is downright sinful how the denim clings to his butt, and I know I'm not the only one that notices. There are at least a dozen sets of eyes trained exactly where mine are.

I am so busy ogling Eric leaning up against the bar, that I don't notice that he's turned his head back to look at me until it is already too late. As soon as my eyes meet his, his smile broadens and he winks, as if he knows exactly what I was thinking. I guess it isn't that hard to guess, given the fact that I had practically been licking my lips. I blush furiously and turn my attention to the cardboard coaster that is sitting on the table in front of me. By the time Eric returns, I have shredded it into a hundred tiny pieces.

"You know what they say about that?" he asks, nodding to my pile of coaster garbage as he sits down next to me and places my gin and tonic on the table.

"Uh," I say uncertainly, "what they say about what?"

"About people who tear up coasters, or peel off beer labels?" I shake my head, and he leans in until his lips are inches away from my ear. "They say it's a sign of sexual frustration."

I laugh and shake my head. "Frustration maybe, but it sure ain't sexual," I say, and shrug my shoulders. There is no way I am going to talk about anything sex-related around Eric Northman. He may have caught me staring at his assets, but I am not about to admit anything.

He leans back in his chair and surveys me as I take a long drink. The gin goes smoothly down my throat, marching a path down to my stomach that immediately calms me.

"Who was that guy?" Eric asks.

Shit. I had thought we could have avoided the topic of John Quinn. I play dumb.

"What guy?"

Eric chuckles and reaches across the table to brush a strand of hair off my shoulder. "The guy who caused you to run to the bar and start slamming tequila shots like you were on spring break? "

"I only had three before you came along," I point out.

"Thank God I did then," he says. "But don't sidetrack me. Who's the dude with the shaved head?"

"Oh," I say, and slump dejectedly into my chair. "You saw that?"

He nods and I take another sip of my drink to fortify myself. I had acted like an idiot; of course I have to explain my actions.

"That's my ex boyfriend," I say, and look down at my hands.

"The ex-boyfriend you ran out on when he proposed to you?"

"I thought you said you didn't know about that!" I exclaim, feeling utterly mortified that Eric heard about that, and not a bit annoyed that he had pretended not to know.

"I never said I didn't know," he says, "only that I wanted you to tell me."

As if that made a difference.

"What's the point? Seems like you know everything about me."

"Not as much as I'd like to," he says with a shrug. "Amelia told Pam about why you moved out here, and then Pam may have mentioned it to me."

"Well, isn't that just a cozy little game of telephone?" I ask with a scowl and take another drink. "What other embarrassing things has Amelia shared with the two of you? Did you have a good laugh?"

"It's not like that, and you know it," Eric says. I look up to see him watching me with concern. "We would never sit around and laugh at you."

As much as I don't want to admit it, I know he's right. He may have a reputation as a womanizer, but he doesn't seem the type to pick on anyone behind their back.

"Honestly," he continues. "You know how Pam is. She kept pestering Amelia about your vow of abstinence and –"

"I didn't vow abstinence," I interject. I can't explain, even to myself, why I think it's important to pass along that little tidbit of information, it just is.

"Oh really?" he asks, and raises his eyebrows. "Hmm. That's quite the interesting turn of events. We can get to that in a minute. Amelia told Pam so that Pam would stop asking questions when you first got here."

"And Pam just had to tell you? Is that it?"

"She didn't tell me right away." He shrugs, and leans forward onto his elbows. "I think she was trying to do me a favor after that scene at the party; to help me understand why I haven't succeeded in getting you into bed."

He says it so matter of factly that it takes me a minute to realize that I should be offended.

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaim, massaging my forehead. "Is that all I am to all of you? Something to play with? Something to get into the sack?"

"What?" he asks. "No. Sookie. Don't be ridiculous." I feel his warm fingers on my wrists as he pulls my hands away from my face. "If you were just someone I wanted to sleep with, believe me, I wouldn't be sitting with you here right now." He sighs. "I am not going to lie and say that I don't want to, because God knows that I do." Despite myself, I feel butterflies in the pit of my stomach at his words. It's stupid to be flattered. "You can't honestly believe that's all I want out of you."

I take a deep breath and look up to meet his eyes. If I've learned anything in the past couple of weeks since we agreed to be friends, it's that Eric doesn't quite live up to the reputation that preceded him. Sure, he's good looking; and sure, he has probably slept with more women than I'd care to think about; but he is not a rampant womanizer, nor the misogynist that Claudine had made him out to be. He is, as hard as I find it to believe, a good friend. A friend that wants to sleep with me? Undoubtedly. But a friend nonetheless.

"I'm not as bad as they say I am," he says with a smile. His thumb rubs against my wrist in a manner that would be reassuring from just about anyone other than Eric. But Eric's thumbs send tiny sparks throughout my body. I jerk my hands back and shove them into my lap.

"Not that ex boyfriend," I say. When he looks confused, I continue. "Quinn; the man at the hotel?" Eric nods. "He's not the man that proposed to me."

I hear Eric mumble something under his breath that sounds like idiot, but continue. "That was Bill who did the proposing. Quinn was my first boyfriend."

"Oh," Eric says, leaning back in his chair. "Your high school boyfriend or something?"

"No," I shake my head. I can't believe I am openly having this conversation with Eric Northman. I can blame part of it on the alcohol, but I know that I can't give gin and tequila 100% credit. "I didn't really date in high school. Or in college for that matter."

His eyes dip down; I'm not even sure if he's aware of his perusal, but I can't stop myself from blushing when his eyes reach the low neckline of my dress. "I was, what you'd call, a late bloomer."

"Well worth the wait," he interjects, returning his eyes to mine with a smile. Oh yes, he knows exactly where he is looking. I scrunch my nose in his direction.

"Do you want me to continue?" I ask. He nods. "I met Quinn when I was working in a hotel in Dallas; at a conference like this one actually." I take a sip of my drink as I contemplate how much I want to tell Eric. "We, erm, hit it off rather well." I see a scowl cross Eric's face. "It was quick, passionate…I moved in with him after dating for a few months, and well, things started to go downhill after that. I haven't seen him since we broke up three years ago."

"Three years, and he still gets under your skin like that?" Eric asks.

I sigh and nod. "It's silly, isn't it? But he was the first person I dated. The first person I loved. The first person I…well…"I trail off. Again. No need to discuss anything related to sex with Eric Northman. Not if I want to keep my sanity.

Eric clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm guessing you had no idea he was going to be here?"

"None," I say, shaking my head. "I even checked the guest list to make sure. He must've been one of those last minute guests Portia added yesterday."

"Go figure," Eric says, and takes a sip of his beer.

"I know," I say with a laugh. "Of all the gin joints in all the world…" I trail off.

"Fuck him," Eric says. I look up to see him peering down at me.

"I, uh," I laugh, "I already tried that and that didn't work out so well."

Eric laughs. "Not literally," he starts. "Definitely not literally. I reserve that honor if and when you do decide to re-enter that arena."

"Eric!" I squeal.

"You started it," he points out. I shrug. "As I was saying. Fuck him, though not literally. Who cares if your ex-boyfriend is here? He's a guest at the hotel. I can't even tell you the number of ex-girlfriends I run into all the time."

"I can only imagine," I mumble under my breath, then finish my gin and tonic. My two boyfriends are bad enough, I can't imagine how many exes Eric has.

"Now, now, Sookie," he says, then lifts his arm to get the attention of the waitress. She is over in a flash, eyeing Eric like she knows exactly what's under that white button down. Hell, she probably does. For some reason, that thought makes me dislike her; a lot.

I sit back as soon as she leaves. "Is she one of them?"

"One of what?" he asks, looking at the waitress' retreating figure and then back to me. "One of my exes?" I nod. "No. Never touched that one. She's offered though."

I put my hand on my chest and give a dramatic gasp. "What? Are you trying to tell me that Eric Northman has turned down an offer of sex?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Believe it or not, I don't sleep with just anyone."

"That's not what I heard," I say, emboldened by that last gin and tonic. "Claudine says you're a GPD."

"GPD?" he asks, quirking his eyebrow. "What in the hell is a GPD?"

"Guaranteed Panty Dropper," I say with a nod.

His shoulders shake with laughter before he makes a noise. "I haven't heard that one before," he says. "I kind of like it."

"I'm sure you do," I say disdainfully.

"It's funny, albeit not entirely accurate."

I snort – yes, actually snort – and cross my arms over my chest. "Really? As if anyone would believe that you had trouble getting into a girl's pants."

"I haven't gotten into yours," he points out.

"I hardly count," I point out. "I'm on a moratorium for bedroom activities. If I wasn't, I'd-" I stop. Shit. I cannot tell him that I'd jump into the sack with him if I was just a little more ballsy. It's hard enough to deal with him as it is.

"You'd what?" he asks, with a knowing smile.

"I, uh, would still say no," I say with a nod.

"I don't think that's what you were going to say, Sookie," he says. He reaches out and places his hand over mine. "I don't think that's what you were going to say at all."

"It was," I say defensively. _Liar, liar, pants on fire,_ my inner sexy times lover taunts. I try to squash her with logic to no avail.

"Mmm hmm," Eric says, tracing a pattern on the back of my hand.

"It's true!" I say, and pull my hand loose from under his. "You may be attractive, but-"

"So you admit that you're attracted to me?"

I roll my eyes. "I think Mother Teresa would be attracted to you. That's not the point. You may be attractive, but I don't want to sleep with you."

Too dangerous. Far, far too dangerous to go down that path.

"Yet," he says, barely loud enough for me to hear.

"What's that?"

"What?" he asks. "Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself."

The waitress returns with our second round of drinks. I practically rip it out of her hand, and guzzle half of it before she's set Eric's down. "Bring me another," I say, smiling sweetly at her. She rolls her eyes and spins on her heel.

"I think you should slow down there, Sookie."

I roll my eyes and finish the second half. "Why? Who cares how much I have to drink?"

"I do," he says. "Besides, you have to be at work again tomorrow; you're gonna have to face Old Baldy, and I'm guessing that it's going to be a hell of a lot easier without a raging hangover."

He has a point, but I choose to ignore it.

"It's one drink," I say, and shake my head dismissively.

"On top of three shots and two gin and tonics." He reaches out and returns his hand to my wrist; I feel a warmth radiate throughout my body from his touch, and I don't pull back immediately. "Sookie, you are not a big drinker –"

"You don't know that," I insist. "This is only, what, the second time you've seen me drink?"

"That's my point exactly." When I attempt to pull my hand back, he tightens his grip. "But even if you were a big drinker," he continues skeptically, "you aren't a very big person." His eyes rake down my body, and I feel the blush start to rise from my belly button. Maybe being slightly tipsy around Eric isn't the best of ideas, but it sure as hell is a better idea than facing John Quinn.

"Oh shush," I say, and pick up my drink to get every last drop I can out before the waitress brings another. "I'm not this tiny little frail thing that can't handle her liquor." Or, at least, not the first part. My ability to handle gin is quickly becoming questionable.

He chuckles and sits back in his chair. "You're hardly big, Sookie."

"I'm hardly small," I counter. No, I do not have weird body issues; I'm just honest. I'm not worried about my weight, but I recognize that I'm not going to blow away in the next windstorm.

"I think you're just right," he says with an appreciative grin and begins to rub the pad of his thumb along the inside of my wrist. "In fact, I think you're –"

He's interrupted by the waitress returning with my drink. I can't decide if I welcome the interruption or not – I would be lying if I say I'm not the least bit curious, but I'm still sober enough to realize that I probably wouldn't know how to handle whatever it was.

"Thank you, Amber," Eric says to the waitress, without looking away from me. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, handing Amber a fifty dollar bill. "That should take care of it."

I squirm under Eric's gaze, and break eye contact to look up at Amber. She's looking at Eric as if he's grown two heads. I manage to catch her eye and she shrugs before she picks up our empty glasses and turns on her heel to head back to the bar.

I grab the new, full glass and take a cautious sip. When I look back in Eric's directions, his eyes are still on me; I doubt they have been anywhere else.

"What?" I ask, and set the drink down.

"I don't think I've ever met a woman like you, Sookie Stackhouse," he says, as if that explains anything. It doesn't; if anything, I am more confused than ever.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just what it sounds like," he says with a shrug, and sits back in his chair.

"Oh come on! You can't say something like that and then not explain."

"Sure I can," he says, and takes a drink of his beer.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" I ask, scowling over the rim of my drink.

"I'll take that," he says, and when I furrow my brows in confusion, he continues. "At least you feel something for me, and you know they say there's a thin line between love and hate."

"I don't hate you."

"So you love me?" he asks with a cheeky grin.

I roll my eyes and take another sip, oddly disappointed when the slurping noise alerts me that I'm done.

"Come on," he says, and pushes out of his chair. He closes the short distance between our chairs in one step and offers his hand to me. "I think it's time to get you into bed."

"You wish," I say as I take his outstretched hand.

"You have no idea," he mumbled under his breath, so quietly that I almost didn't hear it over the low rumblings of Joe Cocker on the jukebox.

I stand up, probably a little too quickly, and stumble over my own feet. If Eric wasn't there, I would have undoubtedly ended up face down on the floor of the bar. Instead, I find myself in the precarious position of having my face against the hard surface of his chest, with his hands clamped around my arms like manacles. Frankly, I'm not sure if the floor wouldn't have been a better place to end up.

His scent fills my head, a mix of sandalwood and salt water, and it takes every ounce of control I have left to not rub my cheek against the soft material of his light blue sweater.

"Are you okay?" he asks and his voice is full of concern.

I look up slowly into his eyes and nod. "Yeah, I'm…um…fine. Just a little unbalanced." I realize too late that I've yet to make a move to get away from him, and feel myself blush again.

"I love when you do that," he says. I can feel the vibration of his voice against my chest.

"Do what?" I ask breathlessly.

"Get flustered like that," he says, and leans down so that his mouth is only inches from my ear. "I like that I can make you blush."

His words only deepen my blush, and I feel like my ear and neck are on fire where his breath dances across my bare skin. Before I respond, he takes a step back and grabs my hand.

"Come on," he says with a smile, as if he hasn't just turned my insides to mush, "let's get you home."

**

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AN:** So this made me laugh, and I couldn't resist sharing. Just in case you were wondering, How to Date a Surfer! - http : . com/how_2064525_date-surfer . html (remove spaces and laugh)


	12. Chapter 12: Getting Snaked

**AN:** Sorry for the delayed posting of the chapter. Real life emergency definitely got in the way. But the good news is that everything fixed itself and the Surfer is back. I hope you all enjoy!

Thanks as always to pfloogs72 for being a fantastic pre-reader and catching my mistakes. Anything left are my own

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~Chapter 12: Getting Snaked~**

"There you are!" Portia's shrill voice calls out from the open doorway of my makeshift office. Before I can invite her in, she teeters in on her too-tall heels and stops on the other side of my desk. "I have been trying to catch up with you all morning."

"Hi Portia," I say and force myself to smile. It's a tad bit difficult to do anything other than hold my head upright today. Despite my protests to Eric the previous evening, I am not much of a drinker, and the decision for one more drink had been a bad one. I have been trying all day to not think about Eric, or at least not the end of the evening, or the awkward way I'd brushed a kiss on his cheek as he dropped me off at Amelia's. Whenever I do think about it, I feel like dying right on the spot. Drinking is a bad, bad idea.

Portia seats herself on the edge of the chair and pushes her dark sunglasses off her face. "Where did you run off to last night?" she asks.

"Was there a problem?" I ask, suddenly alert. Shit. Wouldn't that just be the luck? I can't imagine having to explain what happened to Pam; how I left with her brother because I was on the way to being too drunk to be on the premises.

"What?" Portia asks, pulling me out of my evil fantasy land. "No, of course not. Everything was fine." I can't really expect better than "fine" given the speaker. I haven't heard Portia give higher praise than "fine" yet. "One of our attendees was asking after you, and I was hoping to introduce you to him."

"Oh?" I ask, distracted by a new email that comes across on my computer from Eric. I force myself to look away and back at Portia.

"Yes," Portia responds, folding her hands in her lap. "John Quinn. Do you know him?"

I practically choke on my own tongue at his name. I can't believe he had asked about me; wait, no, I guess I can believe that he asked about me, but that doesn't make it any less of a shock. When I don't respond, she continues.

"He mentioned having stayed at a hotel you previously worked at in Dallas. Does that sound familiar?" I silently thank him for keeping the part about us dating to himself; at least I don't have to go into a lengthy discussion with Portia about my dating history.

"Oh!" I say; I sound ridiculous. "John Quinn. Yes, I do recall him." I force myself to smile again. "I didn't realize he was going to be attending this conference."

"Yes," Portia says and waves her hand dismissively. "He joined at the last minute. I normally would never allow someone to make a decision like that at the last minute, but Extreme(ly Elegant) Events is one of the nation's leading firms; you don't say no to someone like that."

"Of course not." Though, I wish she would have.

"Yes, well, he asked after you specifically. I told him that I would arrange for the two of you to see each other today before the luau."

"Of course," I say, with a falsely bright smile. I somehow stifle the groan that is screaming to escape my body. The thought of seeing Quinn again is enough to make me call in sick and stay under my covers. I remind myself that I have already seen him, that there is no reason that seeing him again will be any different than it had been last night. Of course, I won't be able to hightail it out of the room as soon as I see him, but I am certain that I can maintain a modicum of professionalism around him.

"Oh good," she says with a nod. "Glad that that is all settled. Now, tell me, is Mr. Northman working today?"

I feel myself start to blush at the mere mention of his name; there is no way that is healthy. I somehow manage to squash the burgeoning color rising on my chest and look briefly at my computer. "I believe he is," I say, looking at his name in my inbox.

"Excellent," she says and stands up, smoothing her skirt over her thighs. "I can't imagine how you do it."

"Do what?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion.

"Work with a man like that day in and day out. I reckon I'd just turn into a big puddle every time I saw him."

I'm shocked by Portia's frankness – I'm not sure when we crossed the line from her bossing me around to her treating me like a sorority sister, but I'm not going to complain. I give her the first genuine smile since meeting her. "You get used to it," I say, both to Portia and to myself.

I only hope it's true.

…

I ignore Eric's email for a good thirty minutes, forcing myself to get through a pile of paperwork before reading it. I find myself staring at my computer more often than I'd like, and slap myself on the wrist for being so silly about something as simple as an email. It's probably nothing more than details on the scheduled activities at the beach tomorrow.

When I can't take it anymore, I click on the email message and let out a laugh so loud that Claudine comes rushing in to see if everything is alright.

"I'm fine," I say, trying to reassure her through giggle fits. She raises an eyebrow at me before turning around and heading back to the front desk without a word.

When I manage to regulate my breathing again, I look back at the computer and shake my head with a chuckle. There was only one word in the message "BEWARE" and underneath was a picture of Mr. Clean.

I click the reply button.

To: E . Northman Northmangroup .net

If only he could magically erase my memory of him

I click send before I can talk myself out of it, and return to the stack of paperwork that has taken over my desk. I am barely through the checklist for the night's activities when my computer alerts me of a new email.

To: S . Stackhouse Northmangroup .net

I was beginning to wonder if you got lost between the door and your bed. I was thinking I should have insisted on showing you the way. I could have tucked you in.

I am halfway through my reply when my phone rings.

"Sookie Stackhouse," I say, propping the phone between my ear and shoulder as I continue to type.

"So, you made it in," Eric's familiar deep voice sounds over the phone. I can hear the smile through the phone and can't help but match it.

"Hey Eric," I say and lean back in the high backed leather chair. "I was just emailing you back."

"How you feeling there, champ?" he asks. I shake my head at the empty room and massage the tension sitting in my shoulders before I reply.

"A bit like death warmed over," I reply, and reach out to guzzle my third bottle of water. "You were right," I say when I set it down.

"About needing me to tuck you in?" he asks.

"No!" I say, a little too quickly.

"What's then?" he asks.

"I so shouldn't have had that last gin and tonic."

"Mmm," he murmurs, "you should keep in mind that I'm never wrong."

"Never ever?"

"Never," he replies. "Which leads me to the reason I'm calling."

"What's that?" I ask, sitting forward. I pick up my pencil and begin doodling in the margins of the notebook.

"I want you to have dinner with me," he starts. "Tonight."

I stop doodling to look at the schedule of events before me. "I can't," I say. "I am supposed to meet with the dancers for the luau at five, and then the conference guests are going to be back from their off-site activities for dinner at six-thirty."

"Amelia said she'd take care of it," he says.

"You talked to Amelia about this?"

"She volunteered."

"Just out of the blue, was it?" I ask, leaning my elbows on the desk in front of me.

"She suggested I get you off property tonight."

"Did she tell you why?"

"She did as a matter of fact," he says. "She apparently had a run in with Mr. Clean last night."

Right at that moment, Amelia's dark head comes into view in the doorway. She gives me a knowing smile and crosses the room to sit across from me. "Eric?" she mouths.

I nod. "Uh," I say into the receiver, "Eric? Can I call you right back?"

I don't wait for an answer before hanging up the phone.

"You look a little worse for the wear there Stackhouse," Amelia says, inclining her head in my direction. "You got in pretty late." When I don't respond, she continues. "Where were you?"

"Don't play dumb with me Amelia," I respond, sitting back and crossing my arms over my chest. "You know exactly where I was."

She opens her mouth in shock, but quickly closes it when she realizes I'm not biting. "Fine," she says, and drapes her arm casually across the back of her chair. "How was the big date with Eric?"

"It wasn't a date!" I insist.

"Mmm hmm," she responds with a smirk.

"It wasn't," I repeat. "He found me in the bar with Chow after my run in with Quinn and –"

"You ran into him?" she asks, pushing off her chair. "Mother fucker. When? Where?"

"On the stairs as I was leaving the ballroom."

"Shit," she says, pacing the floor. She stops and turns to face me. "I am so sorry, Sookie. If I had known he was going to be here, I would've given you the week off."

"It's not your fault, Ames," I say. "And really, it's not a big deal. I was just a bit shocked and didn't respond very appropriately. You'd think I would've learned by now that tequila is never the answer."

"It is a big deal. I want to rip the jerk's head off and I wasn't the one who slept with him… wait," she pauses, "you drank tequila?"

I nod.

"You drank tequila and then you went out with Eric Northman?"

I nod again.

"Please tell me it made your clothes come off!"

"Amelia!" I bark. I feel myself blushing, which only makes me think of Eric's words from the previous night, which of course only makes me blush more.

"What?" she asks with an innocent shrug. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"One time!" I say, lowering my voice. "It was only one time."

"Yeah," she says, and takes her seat. "But that one time had you hop into bed with boring Bill Compton, and we all saw where that went."

"I'm fairly sure I learned my lesson on that one," I respond. Amelia hadn't even been there the night I had my bump in with Bill, but she knew all the sordid details. It is true that tequila and I don't mix too well.

"Shame," she responds. "You could do a lot worse than Eric Northman."

"He's my boss Amelia."

"So?" she asks. "Pam's my boss and that doesn't stop me from letting her into my bed."

"Don't I know it?" I mumble. As much as I adore Amelia and Pam, they certainly aren't good at keeping quiet in their nightly endeavors.

Amelia shrugs. "Was Eric calling you about dinner tonight?"

"I can't go to dinner with him and you know it. I've got to be at the luau tonight."

"No you don't," Amelia insists. "I already worked it out with Claudine. The two of us will cover for you; give you a night off so you don't have to see Quinn."

"I don't need you to protect me."

"I know you don't," she says, and reaches across the desk to pat my hand, "but that doesn't mean that I don't want to do it anyway. If I have a say in anything, you won't lay eyes on Quinn again."

"I appreciate the effort, but…" I trail off.

"But what?" she asks. "There's no reason to see him."

"He apparently already talked to Portia about me."

"What?" Amelia shrieks. "What could he possibly have to say to Portia about you?"

"He told her he knew me from the Dallas hotel; asked her if she could arrange for us to see each other again. I'm supposed to speak with him before the luau."

"Mother fucker!" Amelia shrieks so loud that Arlene pops her head into the office. Amelia dismisses her with a wave. "That underhanded bastard!"

"It's no big deal," I insist. Maybe if I say it enough out loud, I will begin to believe it.

She looks at me as if she doesn't quite believe me, but eventually nods. "Okay, well you won't be alone. I'll make sure that someone is there at all times and that you get pulled away after ten minutes."

…

The remaining four hours go by quickly. There are endless problems to solve as the luau nears, and as soon as I finish cleaning one mess up, another inevitably arises. I barely have time to change into the light blue sundress I brought for the evening's events before I have to run down the stairs to meet with the hired dancers for the evening's event.

I quickly walk them through the night's events and show them to their preparation area. This is the third luau I've worked on since arriving at the hotel, and it hasn't gotten any easier. There are so many pieces to coordinate that I'm always sure I'm going to miss something.

My phone vibrates in the pocket of my dress, and I quickly flip it open, not even bothering to read the caller ID.

"This is Sookie," I say, as I hurry away from the dressing rooms and towards the lawn to check on the set up.

"Sookie!" Portia's drawl sounds from the other end. "Where are you?"

"Oh hello Portia," I say, stifling the groan at the sound of her voice. I cannot wait for this event to be over and for her to be out of my hair. "I'm on my way to the lawn to check on those last minute changes you requested." And when I say last minute, I mean last minute. I'd received an email with instructions for special meals just thirty minutes ago.

"I'm sure that's all taken care of already. Listen," she says, "John Quinn got back from Waikiki early and he wants to know if he can meet you for a drink before the luau."

What the hell is this? When did Portia become the Millionaire Matchmaker? I had agreed to say hello; there was nothing mentioned about having a drink. I start to panic, and force myself to slow down my breathing.

"Portia, I really don't have time to have a drink with Mr. Quinn right now. I've got to-"

"I insist," Portia says, her southern drawl laced with steely resolve. "You know how important Mr. Quinn is to this event; I'm sure his approval will go far for the property."

I curse under my breath. "Fine," I say. "But it will have to be in about twenty minutes. Tell him I will meet him in the bar at Molokai."

"Oh goodie!" she says, her sorority voice returning. "I'll tell him to meet you there."

The phone goes dead and I let out a string of audible curses before stepping out onto the lawn.

"What's that sugar?" Lafayette's familiar voice calls out from behind me. I spin around and smile when I see him. There's something about Lafayette that makes just about anything better.

"Just another request from Portia," I say with a groan. There is no need to go into my problems with Lafayette – God knows if I did that the entire staff would soon know the entire history of John Quinn in my life. That's the last thing I need.

"Did you tell that psycho bitch to go to hell yet?"

"If only I could," I say. I turn around and look at the lawn with a critical eye. Everything appears to be exactly where it should be.

"What does she want now?"

"She asked me to come meet one of her VIPs for a drink."

"Why?" he asks. "Not that you ain't something to show off," he continues, giving me the once over, "but Bitch Bellefleur ain't someone that I figured would mingle with the help."

I shrug and look down at my watch. "Shit," I say, "I've got to go. Can you make sure that Terry gets the –"

"Don't you worry your pretty head about a thing Sugar," Lafayette interrupts, and pats me on the shoulder. "We got this under control."

…

If only Lafayette could reassure me that everything is going to be okay about my meeting with Quinn. I stop outside the entrance of the restaurant and take a deep breath.

"You can do it," I reassure myself quietly. I reach up and pat the low chignon I'd thrown my hair into, and step across the threshold to the restaurant.

Chow gives me a friendly smile as I walk into the bar area. "Hey there Sookie," he says, "you need a drink already?"

"I think I needed a drink a few hours ago," I say, and scan the crowd in the bar. I don't see Quinn anywhere. Maybe he won't show up.

"Gin and tonic?" Chow asks. I nod and sit down on one of the tall leather stools that line the bar.

I take the moment to check my Blackberry and am responding to one of Portia's inquiries when I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders. I jump before I can stop myself and turn around to see Quinn standing behind me.

"Quinn!" I say and try to regain my composure as best as I can. "You startled me."

"Hey Babe," he says, and leans down to brush a kiss across my cheek. I hope my cringe isn't visible. I don't think it is, as he sits down next to me and waves for Chow's attention. He orders a glass of scotch before turning his attention back to me.

"I can't even begin to tell you how good it is to see you," he says. His eyes rake over me from head to toe.

"Um…" I start nervously. "Thanks."

"Why'd you run off from me last night?"

"I didn't run off," I say. "I had to get back to work."

Chow sets the glass of scotch in front of Quinn and raises his eyebrows at me in question. When Quinn turns away to take a drink, I shake my head – not enough so as Quinn notices. Chow shrugs and turns back to the other customers.

"You always were a hard worker," Quinn says.

That was one of the fights Quinn and I had always had – when we'd first begun dating, he'd always said how proud he was of me for following my dreams, but as we continued to date, and as my work interfered with my ability to be his plus one at events, my career became a burden to him. One of our last fights had been over his suggestion that I quit my job, as he had "plenty of money" for the two of us.

"Good values, I guess," I say, and take a sip of my drink. Quinn is going to turn me into an alcoholic if this keeps up.

"Tell me," Quinn says, reaching out and placing his hand over mine. "What have you been up to since we saw each other last?" It's funny how much a touch can affect you – where the exact same touch from Eric had made me warm all over, Quinn's touch makes me cringe. I gently pull my hand out from under his.

"Quinn," I say, and close my eyes. "We really don't need to do this."

"Don't need to do what?" he asks.

"We don't need to play nice with each other," I say, and level my eyes to meet his.

"Sookie. Babe. I've missed you."

"Quinn," I say with an incredulous laugh. "It's been almost three years. We haven't spoken to each other since that night in Dallas."

"Only because you wouldn't take my calls," he points out.

"We broke up," I say with a shrug. "That usually means you don't talk to someone anymore."

"You broke up," he points out. "You left. Maybe I wasn't done."

"It's a little late for that," I reply.

"It doesn't have to be," he replies, looking at me earnestly. "I'm not in a relationship right now. Are you?"

I ignore his question. "Quinn, I live in Hawaii."

"You could move back."

"I don't want to," I say, and smile to myself. "I like it here." It's as much an admission to him as it is to myself. I haven't allowed myself to think about the possibility of staying, but I can admit the option is becoming more appealing by the day.

"We were so good together. We can be good together again."

"We so weren't," I reply. "At least not in the end. You're being nostalgic."

"Why shouldn't I be?" he asks. I can hear the anger rising in his voice. If this is anything like our past fights, I'll need a way to deflect his attention and quick. I had mastered it once upon a time; I hope it's like riding a bike. "You were the best girlfriend I've ever had. And things have changed. I haven't talked to my Mom or sister in a year. You were right about that."

"It wasn't just your Mom and Frannie," I say, though they had been the straw that broke the camel's back. "We changed; I changed."

"Give me a chance," he says, sounding desperate.

"Quinn," I shake my head and lower my voice. "I don't want to have this discussion with you. It's been too long. You're a guest at my hotel. I agreed to meet you for a drink; I didn't know that you wanted to talk about this."

"And if you had?" he asks.

"If I had…" I trail off. I contemplate how I can politely tell him I wouldn't have shown up, but don't have the time to respond before I feel a pair of warm arms wrap around my waist and a slightly stubbled jaw rub against my own.

My body stiffens instantly, and I am about to turn around and set the intruder straight when I catch the familiar scent. It's Eric.

"Hey Sookie," he says, and turns his head to kiss me. His lips touch the edge of my mouth – not quite a kiss on the cheek, but also not a kiss on the mouth. In any other situation, I'm sure I would have fainted by now, what with Eric's arms around me, but my eyes haven't left Quinn's violet ones. I see the shock before he sets his face stoically.

"Eric!" I respond, spinning the barstool in his direction when he loosens his grip. He keeps his arm slung casually over my shoulder.

"You said six-fifteen right, lover?" he asks, looking down at his watch.

I feel my skin begin to burn at his endearment. He couldn't have picked one that was slightly less embarrassing?

"Um… yeah," I nod, getting into the character he wants me to play; the character that will get me out of having to talk with Quinn anymore. "Six-fifteen. Eric, this is John Quinn," I say, looking between them. "John Quinn is here with the conference; I knew him when I worked at the hotel in Dallas."

"Nice to meet you," Eric says with a smile and extends his hand. When Quinn doesn't take it, Eric drops it to rest on my knee; a final "fuck off" gesture as he toys with the hem of my dress. His fingers brush against my bare thigh and I have to stop myself from jumping out of my chair.

"Eric is the –" I start.

"Surf instructor," Eric interjects.

"Yes," I nod, and furrow my eyebrows in his direction. Quinn is not going to be impressed by the fact that I'm dating a surf instructor; not that I'm dating him of course.

"How quaint," Quinn says. I hear the bitter tone in his voice and smile.

"Isn't it though?" Eric asks with a smirk. He leans down and brushes his lips across my temple. "You smell good enough to eat," he adds in a voice that is low enough to be private, but loud enough for Quinn to hear. In another situation, Eric's words may have made me blush, but right now it is taking everything I have not to laugh at their big dicks competition.

"Aren't you sweet?"

"Not particularly," Eric says, echoing our first encounter. He turns his attention to Quinn. "Sorry about that. You know, sometimes these women just make you lose your head."

Quinn makes a grunting noise and reaches for his drink.

"How are you enjoying yourself so far, John?" Eric asks.

"I _was _enjoying myself quite well," Quinn replies, his underlying meaning apparent from the way he looks at Eric. He turns his attention back to me. "I'm sorry we didn't get more of a chance to catch up Babe." Eric's arm tightens around me at Quinn's endearment. "But it's clear you're busy."

"I do my best to keep her that way," Eric replies before I can open my mouth. When I look at him, he has the most ridiculous smile on his face. "Right, lover?

"That you do, honey," I say, brushing my nose against his jaw for affect. I'm not sure if it's to prove a point to Quinn or to Eric – either way, it does the trick. I feel Eric's body stiffen next to mine, and his eyes shoot me a look of warning. And Quinn? He's too busy finishing his drink to notice the undercurrent of tension running between Eric and me, for which I can only be grateful.

"Yeah," Quinn says, pushing off the bar stool, "I should probably get going."

"So soon?" Eric asks with mock innocence.

Quinn ignores him, and leans down to brush a kiss across my cheek. "You know where to find me if the situation changes," he says, then leaves without saying goodbye to Eric.

As soon as he's out of eyesight, Eric flops down into Quinn's vacated stool.

"So, lover," he starts with a smirk, "that's the first guy you ever dated?" I nod. "No wonder you've sworn off men."

I roll my eyes and smack at him playfully. "He may not be for me, but he's not the reason."

"Umm hmm," Eric says, signaling to Chow to bring him a beer. "Is that why you melted when you saw me?"

"I did not melt!" I insist. Okay, so I kind of did melt, but it was out of gratitude, not because it was Eric specifically.

"You sure about that?" Eric asks, looking at me skeptically.

"Oh hush," I say, and pick up my drink. "You started it anyway."

"Sure I did," he says with a shrug. "I'll take any excuse I can to get my hands on you."

"Eric!" I squeal.

"What? It's not as if I haven't made my intentions clear from the start."

He has a point.

"And here I was just thinking I could kiss you, I was so happy that you saved me from Quinn – "

"You should," he says, with a waggle of his eyebrows. "I have it on the best authority that I am an excellent kisser."

"Eric," I repeat, my shoulders shaking from laughter. "While I'm sure that's the case, I've still got… what, a few weeks until my moratorium is over?"

"Nine days," he says. "I've been counting."

"Nine days?" I ask incredulously. Has time really gone by that quickly?

"Yes. And I've already cleared it with Amelia that you have the tenth day off for our date."

"That's a bit presumptuous, isn't it?" I ask, though frankly I'm a bit flattered by his effort. I'd be lying to myself if I said I am not interested in seeing where this could go. Over the past few weeks since we've agreed to become friends, I've seen a side of Eric that I doubt many people have actually seen, or at least not people of the female persuasion. He's thoughtful and honest, and most importantly, he's loyal. I don't know what will happen, if anything; I do know that it scares the life out of me to consider what will happen if something doesn't work out. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not stupid. I know it's inevitable.

"Depends on how you look at it," he says. "Let's not worry about it. We've got nine more days to do this friend thing, and I hear good friends take each other out to dinner."

I finish my drink and shake my head. "You're not going to give up on this, are you?"

"Not a chance, Stackhouse."


	13. Chapter 13: The Pope's Living Room

**AN:** It's Thursday again? These weeks are just flying by like crazy. Thanks to everyone who continues to read and review the little tale of the surfer. I apologize for my lack of review response, but there just aren't enough hours in the day lately!

Thanks to **pfloogs72** for being the best pre-reader around!

**

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~Chapter 13: The Pope's Living Room~**

I ease the key into the front door's lock, the click of each ridge sounding like a shotgun in the otherwise silence of the night. I turn around when I ease the door open, and give the driver of the cherry red Ferrari a quick wave before slipping inside and closing the door behind me as quietly as I can.

I lean back against the door and shut my eyes, listening for the sound of the engine as it purrs away and carries away the giant predicament in my life with it. And there is no doubt about it – Eric Northman is the predicament to end all predicaments.

The logical part of me knows that it's a bad idea to do anything with him; it's practically career suicide to dabble with the boss. But every day that logical side gets pushed to the side a little bit more. The more time I spend around him, the more I learn about who he really is and let myself see beyond the reputation, the more I want to throw all caution to the wind and see where it may go. Heck, not even five minutes ago I had barely been able to restrain myself from leaning across the seat of the car and seeing if his mouth tasted anything like I had imagined it would.

"You're being ridiculous," I whisper to myself in the silence of the empty living room. I close my eyes and allow myself a moment to gather myself before heading towards my empty bed.

"There you are!" Amelia's voice sounds, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaim, instantaneously jumping away from the door and stumbling over my feet. I barely manage to stop myself from falling flat on my face, all the while Amelia stands back, her arms crossed over the tiny scrap of a nightgown she's wearing. "You shouldn't sneak up on me like that," I say, smoothing my hair in a nervous tick.

"I wouldn't say I'm the one doing the sneaking," she says with a quirk of her eyebrow. "You're the one tiptoeing inside at," she looks at the clock over my head, "one o'clock in the morning."

"Is it that late?" I ask with a smile. I know exactly how late it is. I had told Eric I needed to be home by eleven, but he had insisted on showing me Diamond Head by moonlight after dinner.

"Please tell me that you're home this late because you finally let Eric ravish you," she says, flopping unceremoniously onto the couch and patting the seat next to her.

"Amelia!" While I may have been contemplating said ravishing, I still don't want to discuss it with anyone. Isn't there some kind of rule about not being forced to talk about non-existent sex?

"What?" she asks with a shrug. "This is the fourth night in a row that you've gone out with him. And you get home later and later each night."

"Nothing happened," I insist.

"Nothing?" she asks and turns the light next to her on. It shines on me like an interrogation lamp, and I hope to God I don't squeal. "You look awfully flushed for nothing to happen."

"Well, it didn't," I say defiantly.

"Fine," she says with a shrug. "Then where were you if you weren't under Eric somewhere?"

I groan and shake my head. "We went for a drive. He wanted to show me Diamond Head, since my best friend has been so remiss in taking me there," I say pointedly. Diamond Head was one sight I had yet to see on the island – something Amelia said she'd take me to as soon as the conference was over.

"Diamond Head, eh?" she asks. "That's awfully romantic for two people who aren't dating."

"We aren't dating," I insist. "Friends can go to Diamond Head at night."

"I know lots of friends who ravish each other at night too," she responds with a smirk.

"We're not those kinds of friends," I say, and walk over to take the seat across from her.

"Yet," she says, so quietly that I barely hear it, but I do.

"Amelia! We are not going to be _those_ kind of friends."

I am such a liar, but I am a liar that still has four days to go until I will let myself call my excursions with Eric a date, much less contemplate one of us being underneath the other. It's the only thing that is keeping me sane during this conference. If I give in and see where this goes with Eric now, I know I won't be able to think of anything else. God knows I've already run into my fair share of problems at this event without throwing the mess of making out with Eric into the mix.

"I'm sure it's not from lack of trying on his part."

"Be that as it may, we haven't even kissed, much less anything else." Well, there was that almost kiss in front of Quinn, but that hardly counts. God, Quinn. The good news is that he hadn't approached me since that mishap at the bar; the bad news is that he seemed to be everywhere I went on the property, looking at me with those violet eyes as if he was waiting for me to make a move. I certainly am not going to reopen that can of worms.

"You're kidding. You have to be kidding," Amelia insists.

"Do I look like someone that would kid you?"

Amelia scrutinizes me, her eyes rake me from head to toe, looking for any telltale sign that I'm being modest about my relationship with Eric.

"You know," she says, tucking her legs beneath her, "I specifically did not forbid you having sex with anyone on your dating time out."

"And I specifically decided that I'm not the type of girl that can have sex," I blush, "without feeling something. Like it or not, I'm never going to be the one night stand kind of girl."

"Pity."

I turn my head to see Pam standing in the hallway leading towards Amelia's room.

"Hi Pam," I say, surreptitiously avoiding looking anywhere below her shoulders; I've learned the hard way that Pam had no issue whatsoever with nudity.

"I take it you still haven't slept with my brother?" she asks, walking around the couch and sitting next to Amelia.

"I don't think that it's any of your-" I start, but am immediately cut off.

"No," Amelia says, rolling her eyes in Pam's direction. "She hasn't."

"Well, that's a first," Pam says drolly. "I can't remember the last time Eric had to work this hard to get into a girl's pants."

"Um, well…" I start, unsure of the right response to that. Either I am going to sound like the biggest prude ever, or like a scorned floozy who has been denied. I'm not either, for the record.

"It's a good thing," Pam says, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Believe me, if there is one thing Eric needs in his life, it's a woman who isn't afraid to stand up to him."

"There is at least that," Amelia says, turning back to me.

"There's at least what?"

"Well, for all that changing you wanted to do when you first got here, at least you've finally learned to stand up for yourself around a man you're attracted to."

"Amelia, I…" I trail off. She's right. As much as I want to argue the fact, it's true that I'd let the men in my life walk right over me. But I didn't feel that with Eric; he didn't want to control me, didn't want me to stop being who I was – opinions and all – to be around him. "I guess you're right," I finish lamely.

"It's a good thing," she says, pushing up from the couch and walking over to me and placing her hand on my shoulder. "I like to see you happy, Sookie. You know that."

"Of course I do," I say, placing my hand over hers. We look at each other silently for a moment before Pam interrupts.

"As much as I'm enjoying this very special Lifetime moment, it's late and I want to go back to bed." I look away from Amelia at Pam. "Not alone," she continues with a pointed look at Amelia.

"That's my cue," Amelia says with a laugh as she stands up. "Four days, Sookie," she continues over her shoulder. "Four days until you can hop right in that bed with Eric Northman."

I shake my head and flop back against the generous cushions of the couch as Amelia and Pam exit the room. I don't think I'm going to hop into bed right away with Eric, as tempting as that may be. I might let him kiss me – oh, who am I kidding? I will totally let him kiss me. I've thought about kissing him too many times to pretend that I'd fend off his advances if he tries again.

The silence of the dark room is broken by my mobile phone, alerting me of an income text. It's from Eric and only says "4 days". I laugh despite myself; he has taken to sharing the countdown with me every night after he drops me off.

I respond, "Good night, Eric" and head towards my bedroom.

…

I wake up the next morning with a sense of lightness I haven't felt in weeks. It's as if the cloud of this conference, with Portia and John Quinn have been hanging over me for the past week, and the sunshine is finally peaking through.

Amelia and Pam are already gone by the time I manage to shower and get dressed, and I relish the few moments of silence I am allowed before I have to head to the hotel. Bob trails after me as I pour a cup of coffee and take a moment to myself on the lanai.

I contemplate how much things have changed since my first morning on the lanai. Sure, I am not the reborn woman I thought I might be when I had started my illustrious (and mostly failed) list, but let's face it, most of those items were the result of jetlag and a crazed idea of a makeover. I know that I'm never going to be as open about sex as Amelia, or as flirtatious as Tara. I'm also not likely to ever complete a marathon (what had I been thinking?) or take up kayaking, but I know that it doesn't matter. That list had been made in an effort to get me out of my slump, and I don't think even the most critical person would think I'm still in a slump.

I am slowly regaining my confidence, day by day. I no longer question myself, or tiptoe around life. I hadn't known how much that had been slowly chipped away by my time with Quinn and then Bill. It's not as if either of them had purposefully set out to do so – or at least I don't think they did – but the result was the same nonetheless. My time being part of a couple; my choices to forgo my career for the sake of my relationship – had made me doubt myself and my abilities.

These past two months – or, I should say one month and twenty-six days if we're keeping track – have allowed me to see that I am capable of taking care of myself; that I am capable of having friends and a career, and even, dare I say, a relationship with a man that doesn't consume my every moment. It's true that we've not moved past the friendship stage, and I am fully aware that if (when?) we do, things might change, but I somehow know that it won't.

The friendship that I've built with Eric over these past two months isn't like anything I ever had with Quinn or Bill. In both relationships, we'd gone from zero to sixty as quickly as Eric's Ferrari. There was no "getting to know" you stage with Quinn; we had hopped into bed before I even knew his middle name. It had seemed incredibly romantic at the time, but it had certainly turned around and bit me in ass later on in the relationship. If I had taken the time to get to know him; if I had made myself look beyond the attractive surface, I may have saved myself a whole lot of heartache.

And Bill? While I can claim I've known him since I was a child, I wouldn't classify our relationship as a friendship. I hadn't known more about him than anyone else. How much does one know about one's neighbor? Sure, you may know that they like to plant azaleas, or that they're having steak for dinner, but you don't know what happens behind closed doors. While the surprises about his character weren't nearly as earth-shattering as they had been about Quinn, I know I wouldn't have agreed to date him if I'd known the real him from the beginning.

It's different with Eric. God knows he's attractive, and I can admit to myself that my background with Quinn had made me wary of anyone that good looking, but already I know more about Eric than I ever did about Quinn. Oh sure, I can't claim to know everything about him – that would be a ridiculous assumption – but I know enough to know that he is ultimately a good person.

I don't lie to myself and pretend that he hasn't gotten around in the dating arena, but frankly who hasn't? I am not naïve enough to think that a man that looks like Eric sits at home on Friday nights pining for much of anything. He's an attractive, virile man, and from what I've learned, no one was ever confused about what he wanted out of the arrangements they entered into with him. I cannot begrudge someone for having consensual relationships in their lifetime. That would be absurd.

I know I cannot judge anyone on their past, lest I be judged on my own. We all have done things in our lives that don't look so great on paper. It's what we do in the future that matters, and who know what the future holds for me?

…

"Two more hours," Claudine sings in my ear as we stand watch over the hectic departures of the conference guests. "Two more hours and the wildebeest will be out of our hair for another year!"

I look over my shoulder at her and smile. "She's not that bad," I say. Gran had always taught me to say the best about people, though I doubt she would have wanted me to lie as easily as I just had.

"Are you kidding?" Claudine groans. "She gets worse every year. I don't know how you managed to make it through the week without picking up a drug habit."

"I wonder that myself," I say with a laugh, and prop my elbows on the counter in front of me.

"Though who needs drugs when you're going out with Eric Northman every night?" she responds nonchalantly.

Shit. I had thought we'd kept that fairly quiet. Of course Pam and Amelia knew, but we had taken precaution to leave in separate cars every night after that first run-in with Quinn.

"What?" Claudine continues with a laugh. "Did you really think no one would find out?"

I shake my head slowly.

"Chow saw him kiss you," she points out. "And Lafayette said he saw you out in Haleiwa two nights ago."

"He _didn't _kiss me," I say. "Or, at least, not really. He was helping me get out of a sticky situation with an ex-boyfriend."

"John Quinn?" she asks.

"Oh my God!" I exclaim. "How do you know all of this?"

"This is a hotel darling. We know everyone's business. You should know that by now."

I had forgotten how the gossip mills worked on a property like this; it was easy enough to forget until you were the subject of the gossip.

"It's nothing," I say with a shrug. "We're friends."

"I know you are," she says, looking the very picture of innocence.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" she asks patronizingly.

"Like you don't believe me."

"Me?" she asks, placing her hand on her chest. "Why would you ever suspect that?" Her shoulders begin to shake with laughter, and I close my eyes.

"Oh God, please tell me that everyone doesn't think we're sleeping together. Please tell me that there's at least that."

"Not everyone," she replies with a shrug.

I groan and begin to massage my forehead.

"I don't," she says. "Neither does Alcide. Lafayette, however, can't imagine how anyone wouldn't be sleeping with Eric Northman given the chance. And of course Arlene is convinced you're sleeping with him since she cannot imagine you holding his interest without sex. I tried to tell her that holding out –"

"Enough!" I interject, burying my face in my hands. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"What's a bad idea?" she asks.

"Going anywhere with him; being seen in public with him. I knew it would make people talk."

"Who cares?" she asks. "People are always going to make up something to talk about. And there are worse things that could be said than you managed to catch the interest of Eric Northman. Hell, no one here thought it was possible for a girl to hold his interest for two days, much less two months."

"But… but…" I stammer. "I don't want people to think I'm sleeping with the boss."

"Why not?" she asks. I lift my head up and look over at her. She is looking at me earnestly. "I mean, this isn't the type of place where sleeping with the boss is frowned upon. If it was, Amelia would have a lot more problems. No one cares who you sleep with."

"Is that why you all talk about it?"

"No," she responds with a shake of her head. "We talk about it because it keeps us entertained. Hell, you know Lafayette talks about all his exploits all the time, and I've been known to share a few stories here and there. God knows Amelia and Pam like to talk about what they get up to. It's what we do."

"It's not what I do!" I insist. "There are some things that are meant to be kept private."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Honey, you should know that there's nothing private when you work at a place like this." When I don't budge, she comes over and places a hand on my back. "Really, it doesn't matter."

I say nothing.

"It doesn't," she repeats. "Look, it's all speculation until you or Eric confirms it. Right now you've got everyone guessing. You have just as many people who are sure you aren't, as those who are sure you are."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?" I ask, standing up and turning to face her.

She shrugs. "Look at the bright side," she starts.

"There's a bright side?"

"Sure there is," she says with a grin. "You're driving Arlene crazy."

I smile despite myself. Arlene is far from my favorite person working here, and God knows I'm not her favorite.

"I guess there is that."

**

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AN: **I promise that the Surfer himself returns next chapter, and that you'll like what happens!


	14. Chapter 14: Soul Arch

**AN:** Better late than never, right? And technically, it is still Thursday! Thanks to everyone who continues to read the Surfer's journey. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Thanks to **Laura BF** for the banner she made for CSTW, which I will eventually get around to posting. And thanks to **pfloogs72** for being my clutch/beta!

**~Chapter 14: Soul Arch ~**

"There you are," Eric's familiar voice calls from behind me. I turn around and smile when I see him leaning against the jamb of the oversized doorway in front of the valet. I've just ushered Portia into her town car, the last duty of the conference ending as soon as the black car cleared the long drive leading away from the property.

"Hey Eric," I say, closing the distance between us. I start to blush under his assessing gaze; something I haven't yet mastered not doing around him.

"I'm assuming that was the Wicked Witch of the West in that last town car?"

I laugh and nod. "She's off to see some other wizard." I stop in front of him, leaving a respectable distance between us and look down at my watch. "My flying monkey duties are officially over as of five minutes ago."

"Glad to hear it," he says, pushing off the door and taking a step towards me. The respectable distance I'd left is completely demolished. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "You look tired."

"Gee, thanks," I say with a smirk. "You sure know how to flatter a girl."

"Friends are meant to be honest, not flattering," he says, his hand dropping down to my shoulder. "Unless, of course, you've decided that we can stop with the friend pretense."

I look up, expecting to see mirth in his eyes and am jolted when I see nothing but sincerity. I open my mouth to respond, and then close it again when I can't figure out what I want to say. It seems silly to hold onto this two-month thing - I don't think anyone would fault me for cutting it short by three days – but I'm not ready to make that leap in my current frame of mind.

"Come on," he says, tucking my hand in the crook of his arm.

"I've got to go finish up some paperwork," I start when he pulls me along behind him through the lobby. "I told Claudine I would help close out the accounts tonight."

Eric shakes his head. "It can wait until tomorrow."

"I'm not working tomorrow," I point out. As soon as Amelia had seen John Quinn, she had insisted that I take the day after the conference off to recuperate.

"I know," he replies, with a smile.

I stop in my tracks, forcing him to stop and turn to face me.

"I've got to work, Eric," I reply. "You're my boss. You should care that I do a good job."

"And I do," he replies, taking my hand in his. "But right now I need you to come with me."

"I can't."

"You can," he replies with a nod, and squeezes my hand in his. "Amelia and Claudine told me to come and get you."

"Amelia and Claudine?" I ask uncertainly.

"Yes, Amelia and Claudine. As much as I'd like to whisk you away, I'm only following orders."

I reluctantly give into his gentle tugs and begin to follow him wherever he is leading me.

"I see how it is," he laughs. "Willing to neglect your duties when Amelia wants you to, but not when I do?"

"It's different," I say.

"How is it different?" he replies.

"Amelia and Claudine wouldn't ask me to do something I'm not supposed to. You on the other hand? You'd lead a saint astray given the opportunity." When he doesn't respond, I turn to look at him with a laugh. "Oh, don't pretend I'm not right."

"I'm not," he says, looking down at me with a smirk.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"I was just imagining what you'd look like in one of those little saint outfits," he replies with an exaggerated leer.

"What in the heck is a saint outfit?" I ask with a laugh. "Long robes and sandals?"

"God no," he replies with disgust. "One of those short little white ones with the wings. Like those girls in the lingerie catalogue wear?" He closes his eyes and his smile widens.

"An angel costume?"

"Yeah," he says with a nod. "An angel costume. I think I can arrange one of those if you'd like."

I shake my head and swat his arm. "You are incorrigible Eric Northman."

"I never said I wasn't."

…

Eric leads me down the winding staircase in the lobby and through the large glass doors that open out to the beach. The sun is setting on the horizon, casting shadows along the tiki-lit path. Eric refuses to tell me where he'd leading me, or what we're going to be doing, which only heightens my sense of anticipation. I'm not a big fan of mysteries in general, though I don't think Amelia, Claudine AND Eric would lead me astray.

"Amelia and Claudine are down here?" I ask.

Eric looks down at me and shrugs his shoulders.

"Eric," I practically growl with frustration. "Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see," he responds, tugging on my hand. The breeze carries the sound of laughter and music across the wide expanse of the beach. I don't remember seeing any events on the schedule this morning, but I'm sure I could have overlooked them in my haste to finish Portia's last request.

"Is there an event on the lawn tonight?" I ask.

Eric says nothing, but continues to guide me down the path. We round the corner of the utility building and I stop in my tracks. The large lawn has been transformed since I was out here less than two hours ago. The sweeping expanse of grass that has seen more weddings than any other part of the property is hung with strands of twinkle lights, and filled with tables of delicacies from Lafayette's kitchen.

There are no more than twenty-five or thirty people on the lawn, but the layout of the tables and bar make it look fuller. Chow is standing in his usual position behind the bar. I see Pam and Amelia across the distance at a table with Alcide, and spot Claudine standing with Lafayette near the gazebo.

"What is this?" I ask, turning my attention back to Eric from the scene in front of me.

"Tradition," he replies with a smile. When I say nothing, he continues. "Every time a big conference wraps up, we try to have something for the staff that works it. It's something Mom and Dad started at the Santa Barbara property, and Pam and I think it's a good idea to continue it. A kind of reward for everyone's efforts."

"What about the other guests?" I ask, looking back at the hotel. While it was a relatively quiet night, there was still a need for a full staff to take care of them.

"They're taken care of," he says, and places his hand on the small of my back to propel me forward. "This isn't about worrying about the other guests," he continues. "It's about celebrating a successful event and letting go of some steam. You need to relax, Sookie."

I look over his shoulder at the hotel uncertainly. If Amelia and Claudine are down here, that means Arlene must be at the front desk with the new girl. The thought of poor, timid Maria Cooper with Arlene is nearly enough to make me bolt, but I can't deny that the scene in front of me isn't appealing.

"Don't worry," Eric says, "we have Arlene under control. She won't scare off Maria in one night."

"How did you…?" I start.

"I can read you like a book, Sookie Stackhouse," he replies with a smug smile. "Plus," he continues, leaning down to whisper in my ear, "we all think Arlene's a bitch."

I throw my head back with laughter and feel his hand clench the back of my dress in response. It is something a lover might do, and the feeling jolts me back into the moment. The heat of his fingers burns through the thin cotton of my dress; I can almost feel the ridges on his hands as if they are against my skin directly.

"Eric…" I gasp, my head reeling with the sensation flooding my body. "I…"

"There you are!" Amelia calls out, standing up from her seated position and nearly tripping over her feet in her hasty advance. I can smell the alcohol on her breath when she stops in front of us. "I was wondering when you'd get her down here," she says to Eric.

"What can I say?" he asks, his voice husky. I wonder if he felt the same jolt a moment ago. "She won't do anything I tell her."

"That's part of her charm," Amelia says with a nod, pulling me away from Eric. "Come on, I've got a drink waiting for you." I look over my shoulder as she pulls me away, and shrug in Eric's direction. He knows that there is no stopping Amelia when she's on a mission. In a way, I'm thankful for the interruption. I don't know what would have happened if we were left together.

"I was about to come and get you myself," she says, weaving through the tables towards the one she had vacated. "But Pam said that Eric would get you sorted out. I do so hope he gets you sorted out," she adds, with an exaggerated waggle of her eyebrows.

I don't have a chance to respond before she stops short at the table and plops down into the empty chair. "Look who finally made it," she says to Alcide and Pam.

"Hey Sookie," Alcide says, standing up and pulling a chair out for me. Amelia passes an icy mai tai in my direction, and I reach out and take a sip.

"Hey Alcide," I reply, taking the seat he's holding. I smile over my shoulder. "Thank you."

"I've got that," Eric's deep voice says from behind me, and I turn around in the other direction to see Eric standing behind me. His hands grip the back of my chair and help push the chair into the table.

"You're so bossy," Amelia says from across the table.

"And possessive," Pam adds with a laugh. "It's just pushing her chair in."

Eric silences her with a look and takes the empty seat next to me. Even in the warm night air, I feel a shiver as I watch him reach out and take the mai tai from my hand, taking a sip from the glass where my lips had just been.

"Were you surprised?" Amelia asks. I open my mouth to reply, but she continues. "Pam didn't think we'd be able to keep this a secret from you, but I knew we could."

"I didn't say we couldn't," Pam interjects. "I just didn't understand why you thought we should."

"Everyone loves surprises," Amelia says with authority. "Right, Sookie?"

"Erm…not particularly." Though this surprise is much better than the last surprise I'd faced - and I don't have to tell someone that no, I don't want to marry him - so things are better already."Though this is quite lovely," I add hastily, sweeping my arm in a wide arc.

Eric takes my drink again and finishes it in one gulp. "I'll go get us another," he says, pushing out of his chair. I force myself to look away as he leaves the table; it would be no good to have Amelia and Pam see me watching him. I look over to see them deep in conversation and sit back in my chair.

"I see you looking Sookie," Lafayette says not a minute later, falling into Eric's vacated seat. "Don't you go pretending you ain't interested in that piece."

I shake my head and turn to greet Lafayette. "Hey Laf."

"Don't you 'hey' me, Miss Thing," he responds, leaning towards me and scrutinizing my face. "I thought we was friends."

"We are friends," I say, furrowing my brow. "Or…at least I thought we were."

"That's what I thought," he says with a nod. "But then you gos and sleeps with that fine ass surfer and you don't tell me?"

I feel the blood rush to my face and quickly look around to see if anyone heard him. Thankfully Pam and Amelia aren't paying us any attention, and Alcide is otherwise occupied with a rather surprising woman sitting in his lap.

I look back at Lafayette and mouth, "Alcide and Claudine?"

"Oh no. You ain't getting off that easy. No changing the subject."

I lean forward and say in a voice barely above a whisper, "I'm not sleeping with Eric."

He looks at me doubtfully and shakes his head. "You don't have to lie. It's just us girls. I won't tell anyone."

"You? You're the biggest gossip around. But, I'm not sleeping with Eric," I repeat, my voice slightly louder. "Honest."

He sits back in his chair and gives me the once over. "Hmmm, I suppose you don't look like a woman who's been freshly fucked."

"Lafayette!"

"Don't play coy with me," he says with a shrug. The only question is, why the hell not?"

"Why the hell not, what?" Eric asks, interrupting our conversation. I am sure I am the brightest shade of red imaginable. I wonder how much he overheard. From the look on his face, I think I'm in the clear. If he had heard too much, he would look far more interested than he does.

Unfortunately, I'm not lucky and Lafayette does not leave well enough alone.

"I was asking her why she hasn't done slept with you already," Lafayette says matter-of-factly.

Eric's grin deepens, a glint of mischief in his eye. "Did she answer you?" he asks Lafayette, though doesn't look away from me.

"No."

"Shame," Eric replies. "I was hoping you'd let me in on the secret."

"Eric!" I say, my voice sounding positively squeaky.

"Yes, Sookie?" he asks, setting a full mai tai on the table. I reach out and pour the liquid down my throat. Maybe it wasn't Quinn that was turning me into an alcoholic; Eric seems to do a pretty good job himself.

"You've gone and flustered her," Lafayette says, looking between the two of us with a grin.

"She's charming when she's flustered," Eric responds. "I rather like the shade of red she turns when she's like this."

"Mmmm," Lafayette murmurs. "If you say so." He pushes back off the chair and stands between Eric and me. "I think I'd better leave you two love birds alone."

I take another drink, wondering how quickly I can get another. If this is how tonight is going to go, I don't think there is enough rum in the world to keep me sane.

"Slow down there, killer," Eric says and places his hand on my wrist, pulling the drink away from my lips. "There's plenty more where that came from."

"Yeah, I… okay," I reply. I set the drink down on the table and watch him sit down out of the corner of my eye.

"I know everyone is talking, but don't let the gossip get to you," he says, as if it is that easy. "Tonight is about having fun and relaxing."

"Right," I say resolutely with a nod. I know that people are going to talk regardless of my actions; I shouldn't care. I still need to work on that. "You're right."

"I never thought I'd hear you say that," he says with a smirk.

"Oh hush," I reply, smacking playfully at his arm. He reaches out and captures my hand in his, lowering it onto my lap but not letting go. The clasp is hidden by the voluminous white tablecloth, and for once I don't want to pull away. I feel oddly comforted by his touch.

As embarrassing as it has been to have everyone speculate about my sex life, imaginary though it may be at this point, I can't imagine what Eric must've gone through over the years. While his reputation may have been somewhat earned, I've learned over the past few weeks that he hardly lives up to the gossip. He is not a womanizer; he's just a man that appreciates women, and a man who women appreciate right back. But I've come to realize that most of the stories that built his reputation aren't true.

I look over at Alcide and Claudine before looking back at Eric. "Those two?" I ask, with an inclination of my head.

Eric nods. "Love is in the air apparently."

"I guess so," I say, looking down to avoid his gaze. "Maybe more like lust though."

He chuckles and tightens his grip on my hand. "That is probably a more accurate assessment in that case."

Claudine pulls her lips away from Alcide's and turns her head towards us with a smile. "Hello Sookie," she says with a grin that is worthy of the Cheshire cat.

She unwraps her arm from around Alcide's neck and stands up, walking towards me and reaching out to take my hand. I quickly pull my hand out of Eric's before she can see it, and follow her lead when she helps me stand up.

"I'm going to steal your lady away for a bit," she says to Eric, then unceremoniously pulls me away from the table.

"You and Alcide?" I ask when we come to a stop in front of the bar.

She shrugs. "Why not?"

"What about Debbie?" I ask. Alcide's ex had a nasty habit of popping up in the unlikeliest situations. I know that Claudine can hold her own against most everyone, and probably even crazy Debbie herself, but it's not a snake pit I was willing to walk into.

"He's over her," she replies. When I raise my eyebrow skeptically, she continues. "Really. She showed up at his house the other night in a rage when she heard about us. She was drunk and… well… she struck him. He kicked her out, told her he never wanted to see her again."

"Debbie Pelt knew about you two before I did?" I ask. I suddenly understand Lafayette's offense, though it was justified in this case since they were actually sleeping together. "When did this happen?"

"The night you had the run in with Quinn," she says. "I didn't want to say anything, because you had enough on your plate. And I didn't want you to judge me, since I tried to set him up with you. I just figured now that you and Eric…"

"I'm not judging," I reply. In fact, Debbie aside, it's not a bad pairing. I hadn't thought about it, which is a bit surprising, but they really are perfect for each other. Alcide is a nice guy, even if he wasn't the right guy for me. I have no idea how serious they are; knowing Claudine it's probably not very serious. They may be just what the other needs.

"It was nice before," she says with a shrug. She turns and orders two drinks from Chow and turns back to me. "It didn't work out then because… well, it just didn't. But we were good together. He's a right animal in the sack and –"

"Enough!" I say, putting my hand out. "I don't want to hear about your sex life."

"You're such a prude," she says with a chuckle, then reaches out to hand one of the shots that Chow had poured to me.

"I'm not a prude," I say. "Most people just don't talk about their sex lives."

"Whatever," she says with a shrug. "This isn't the dark ages. Women are allowed to enjoy sex you know."

"What's this?" I ask, lifting up the shot glass and avoiding the direction the conversation is headed.

"It's an orgasm. I figured you could use one," she replies with a wink, then raises her glass in a toast. I feel my skin start to burn again, and decide that whatever is in this shot can't be worse than having to talk about its name. I toss back the creamy shot, its sweetness sending a warm sensation through my body.

"That's really good," I say, licking a stray drop of moisture off my bottom lip.

"The real ones are even better," she says, then turns to Chow and orders two more.

The two shots turn into two more, and before I know it, the anxiety that had been residing in the pit of my stomach since Claudine's morning inquisition into the status of my sex life nearly completely dissipates. The atmosphere of the party changes as Lafayette takes over the DJ station. The quiet lilt of Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's ukulele is replaced by the thump of bass.

Pam and Amelia are the first two out on the dance floor, giving a scandalous and rather detailed peek into behavior better left behind closed doors. They are quickly joined by the other well-lubricated employees at the party, all of whom appear to have left their inhibitions on the other side of the archway.

The early nineties rap continues, and Claudine tosses back one last shot before making her way over to the table Alcide and Eric are still sitting at. With a bawdy wink over her shoulder at me, she throws her leg over Alcide's lap and starts to give him a lap dance that is much better suited to a private venue.

I turn around before it transforms from an R rated dance to NC-17 and drink my companion shot to the one Claudine had taken without me. I see Eric out of the corner of my eye and look over to see him leaning against the bar, looking at me with an amused grin on his face.

"Having a good time?"

I nod, and set the shot glass down in front me. "This helps," I say with a shrug.

He picks it up and sniffs the contents of the glass, flashing me a wicked smile as he sets it down. "What was that?"

I start to blush again, and curse myself for being so easily embarrassed. If I was Claudine, I could say the word without blushing. But me? I can't even think it without turning beat red.

Screw that. Who cares if I am blushing? I have enough liquid courage in me to name the drink.

Sort of.

"An orgasm," I say so quietly that I can barely hear myself.

"What's that?" he asks, leaning towards me until his face is inches from mine. "I couldn't hear you."

I close my eyes and repeat myself. "An orgasm."

When he is quiet, I open my eyes again to see him staring at me with a sparkle in his eyes. "And you were in need of one of those?" he asks with a smirk.

"Erm, five," I say, averting my eyes from his. My courage isn't nearly where I would like it to be.

"What?"

"I had five," I say.

"Five orgasms?" he asks, with a low whistle. "I'm surprised you're still standing." When I say nothing, he continues, "five shots for a girl your size on top of two mai tais seems like a lot." That's not what he meant initially, and we both know it. But far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I guess I needed it after this week."

He nods and takes a sip out of the long-neck bottle of beer in his hand. He turns and leans his elbows against the bar behind him, taking in the dancers who are even more out of control than they were before.

"Do you dance?" he asks, not looking at me.

"Erm. Not really." It isn't that I don't like to dance; in fact, I am a fairly good dancer. It is more that, even five shots and two drinks into the night, I know better than to dance at a work function like this. I've heard too many horror stories of the drunken idiot to actually be one.

"Me neither," he replies. "I'm more of a show my moves off the dance floor kind of guy."

I look over at him to see him watching me, and immediately lower my lashes. There is something about the intonation of his voice that flusters me; something about the glint in his eye that makes me feel antsy.

"Do you want to take a walk on the beach?" he asks, pushing away from the bar. "The water is calm tonight, and you can usually see some dolphins just beyond the reef."

I nod and stand up from the barstool, surprised at how woozy I feel. Eric reaches out and clasps my elbow with his strong hand. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, straightening out the wrinkles in my skirt. "Just need to regain my balance I guess."

He leads me away from the noise of the crowd with a firm hand on the small of my back, moving at a pace that is slow enough that I don't stumble with a little bit of effort. Those last shots might not have been the best idea for walking, but they've left a warmth in my stomach that I haven't felt in ages. Or, at least, I think it's the shots that have left me that way. I don't want to think about the other possibility.

"I love this beach," I say when we reach the end of the path. I bend down and unhook the ankle straps of my shoes, eager to feel the sand beneath my toes. This past week had seriously cut into my beach time, and I let out a sigh of satisfaction when the sand sifts over my toes.

I turn around to see Eric watching me, his head quirked to the side.

"What?" I ask, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says with a shake of his head, and kicks off his flip flops to join me on the beach. We walk slowly through the deep sand, stopping when we reach the edge of the water. I look out at the expanse of the ocean in front of me and smile.

"You look beautiful in the moonlight," he says quietly. "You look happy," he continues.

"I am," I reply, reaching out to take his hand in mine though refusing to look at him. I don't want to think about what that means right now; all I know is that I want to touch him. "I'm happier than I think I ever have been," I say.

"Wow," I continue after a moment of silence. "I guess that doesn't say a lot about me, does it?"

I turn my head and meet his eyes. They are practically glowing in the moonlight, and I feel their heat bore through me, yet he remains silent. I feel a nervous tick run through my body and start to babble before I can stop myself.

"I mean. I'm twenty-seven years old. It seems ridiculous that I've never been as happy as I am right now. My life is in turmoil, I don't know where I'm going to be in two weeks, much less two months and –"

I am silenced by his lips against my own. Before I can even think, he pulls me towards him, one hand splayed across my lower back and the other entwined in my hair, angling my head towards his. It is not a gentle kiss. It is one that encompasses the weeks of pent up sexual tension, and it is more than I ever thought a kiss could be.

I hear myself groan as I sink against him. My hands are desperate to be everywhere at once, but they are trapped between our bodies, pressed against the chest I had been trying not to think about for weeks.

"Sookie," he murmurs against my mouth as he nibbles on the corner of my mouth. I let out a sigh and open to his questing lips. A shiver runs across my back as his tongue meets mine, and he pulls me even closer than I was before.

I do not know how long we remain locked together. It seems to be both an eternity and a mere moment. Eventually he breaks away from the kiss and rests his forehead against my own.

"Wow," I say, biting my lower lip. It is swollen in a manner that only happens after being kissed. It feels delicious and scandalous.

"Go out with me tomorrow," he says, his voice more forceful than usual.

"What?" I ask in a daze. I can barely remember my name, much less process what he means.

"I can't wait three more days. Not after that. Not after this," he says and leans down to capture my lips again. When I am breathless, he pulls away again. "Say you'll go on a real date with me. Say yes," he commands.

I look up at him, his face cast in the shadows of the night and nod. "Yes," I say. "Yes."


	15. Chapter 15: Fambo

**AN:** How can I thank all of you lovely readers? I'm glad you all liked the kissy face section (I had a suspicious feeling you just might;)). You are all amazing for reading this week to week and staying on board!

Since I am TERRIBLE at responding to reviews (blanket thank you!), I thought it might be easiest to answer a question that's popped up a few times here instead. My plan is to keep this in a single POV, so those of you asking what Eric is thinking… feel free to use your imaginations!

**

* * *

~Chapter 15: Fambo~**

I stare at my closet for what seems like an eternity.

"What are you doing?" Amelia asks from behind me.

I turn around and let out a sigh of frustration. "I know this sounds horribly clichéd, but I have no freaking idea what to wear; or, more to the point if I even have anything _to _wear."

"I'm sure Eric would appreciate it if you didn't wear anything," Amelia replies with a grin and seats herself between the piles of clothes on my bed. I have gone through every item of my rather sparse wardrobe over the last thirty minutes, attempting to put together an ensemble worthy of a first date with Eric.

Eric. I feel a flutter of anxiety in my stomach at the mere thought of him. I shouldn't be this nervous about a man who I have spent nearly every night (though not like that!) with for the past week, and any number of days with over the past two months. But this is different. This is Eric who had kissed me and made my insides feel like a slushie.

"Yes, well," I say, with a stupid grin despite myself, "that's not an option."

I turn back to the closet and pull out a pink shirt I've pulled out fourteen times already. Maybe it will be okay if I pair it with a pair of jeans. It would be helpful to know where Eric is planning on taking me, but he'd been too busy having his tongue in my mouth to tell me. No. That isn't fair. We were too busy having our tongues in each other's mouths to have that discussion.

I'm not going to lie and say I didn't want to kiss him. I did. And I want to kiss him again. The decision to come out of dating hiatus before the two months is officially up is my decision, and I feel good about it. I have never been in this kind of situation before; the kind where I'm going into this date with eyes wide open. As much as I want to call it just a date, even I know that this isn't going to be a typical first date. We know each other too well for the awkwardness of that.

Sure, there are things about Eric that I probably don't know, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I am sure of what is important: that he likes me and that I like him. He knows my stance on the whole dating thing; when – no, I should say if – we decide to "date" and not just go on a date, he knows that I'm a one guy kind of girl.

"Tell me again about last night," Amelia says, wrinkling her nose at a red sleeveless top sitting on my bed. She rolls it into a ball and tosses it on the floor.

"I've told you three times this morning already!" I reply, picking the shirt up off the floor and shaking out the beginning stages of wrinkles.

"You told me that Eric took you to the beach and that you agreed to go on a date with him. That hardly qualifies as telling me what happened. And put that shirt down; it deserves to die a quiet death."

"This shirt is not bad," I start and look down at it. It's true that it has been a few years since it could be considered fashionable, but it's still wearable; kind of. I toss it into the pile of discarded clothes on the floor of my closet. Perhaps it's best to keep it there for a while.

"It is too," she replies. "But don't think you're getting out of it that easily Sookie. I demand to know details of what Eric did to convince you."

"He didn't do anything." That is kind of true. "I came to a realization that I was over my man issues – or, as over them as I'm going to get. He helped me through some things, and I came to the conclusion that he's the kind of guy I should be dating. Or, going on dates with," I add. I don't want to get ahead of myself.

"Did his six-pack play a roll in persuading you?" she asks with a suggestive wink.

"Amelia!"

"What?" she asks with a shrug. "It's a valid question."

And only partially true, not that I'll admit that.

"While the six pack in question is a nice bonus, no. I didn't even consider it. He's been a good friend," I say with a nod. "And God knows I wasn't friends with Bill or Quinn, so it's worth a shot." I turn back to my closet and sigh. "If I can ever get dressed."

Amelia comes up behind me and begins to rifle through the remaining clothes in my closet. "Here," she says, pulling a low cut white shirt off its hanger. "Wear this and the cutoffs that make your ass look perky."

"My ass doesn't look perky on a regular basis?" I ask, suddenly conscientious of my posterior. I know I don't have the tiniest body or frame, but the last thing I need to worry about is what my butt looks like today. "Not that it matters," I quickly add.

"Oh hush," she replies, shoving the shirt in my arms. "You know Eric's anaconda don't want none unless you've got buns hon."

"Great insight, Sir Mix-a-lot," I reply, with a roll of my eyes. I look over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. "Shit!" I exclaim. "He's going to be here in an hour and I haven't even showered."

"I would bet he'd be willing to help you out with that if you asked."

I shake my head with a laugh. "I'm sure he would. Now scoot."

…

The doorbell rings as I'm curling my hair, the lilting chimes echoing through the house. It's probably silly to curl my hair considering the humidity and the fact that I'm likely to be outside most of the day, but I still have my vanity.

"Sookie!" Amelia calls from the living room. "Lover boy is here."

I unplug the hot iron and toss it in the sink, giving myself one last look in the mirror. It's as good as it's going to get. I run out of my room frantically, hoping to get out to the living room before Amelia can say anything that will embarrass me. I stop in my tracks when I see Eric standing there with a grin on his face.

"Oh, um, hey Eric," I say, and smile back before I can stop myself. I don't know what it is about him that makes me lose all reason, but I am completely content to stand here looking at him all day.

"Sookie," he says, and crosses the room in four strides to take my hands in his. "I missed you," he says lowly, leaning in to brush his lips across mine.

"Don't mind me," Amelia says, breaking me out of Eric's spell temporarily. "I'm just going to go back to my coffee over here." She shuffles across the wooden floor, her eyes never leaving the two of us.

"I, uh, need to grab my bag," I say, letting go of Eric's hands as I start to stumble backwards. "I'll be… right back." I spin around and high tail it to my room, silently chastising myself for being so flustered this early on. It's only a date, I remind myself. With Eric Freaking Northman! I shut my eyes when I cross the threshold to my bedroom in an effort to center myself and nearly jump out of my skin when a large hand touches my waist.

The hand runs along my side, pulling me gently back against the hard body of its owner. He spins me around and his other hand comes up to cup the side of my face. The corner of Eric's mouth turns up in a smirk as his thumb runs along the delicate skin of my jaw. I don't have time to say anything before his lips are on mine. The kiss is quick, albeit thorough, and leaves me completely shattered. I lean against his chest, sure that I will have trouble standing on my own.

"Now that's a proper greeting," he says with a chuckle. He steps back, releasing me to stand on my own. I don't know how long I stand there, completely motionless, watching as he steps further into my room and looks around. "This isn't exactly what I imagined."

"You've imagined what my bedroom looks like?" I ask, my voice less squeaky with every word.

He turns around from his survey of the room and looks at me with so much heat that I start to feel lightheaded again.

"Many times," he says.

"Oh." I am such a wordsmith.

"Is this your bag?" he asks, picking up the satchel I had filled this morning.

I nod and step forward, reaching out to take it from his clasp.

"Good," he says, letting it go. "We've got to get going if we're going to beat the crowds."

"Where are we going anyway?"

"It's a surprise," he says, reaching down to clasp my hand. He begins to walk back towards the door, pulling me along behind him.

"I don't know if I have what I need," I start. "Or if I'm properly dressed."

He stops briefly and looks me over from head to toe. His eyes linger on the expanse of leg revealed by my shorts, and I feel ridiculously self-conscious at his assessment.

"Do you have your bikini with you?" he asks.

"Um…yeah," I murmur. "It's on."

"The red one?" he asks, with a quirk of his eyebrow. If there was such a thing as x-ray vision, I would be nervous, the way he's looking at me. " I really liked that red one."

"No," I say, with a shake of my head. "It's, um...black."

His smile broadens and he looks up to meet my eyes. "I'm sure I'll like it too," he says, as if that's what I was looking for, and continues the path towards the front door.

I barely get a goodbye out to Amelia before Eric pulls me outside, the brightness of the late morning sun blinding me. I fumble in my bag for my sunglasses, and shove them on my face when we reach Eric's car.

"So I take it we're going to the beach?" I say as Eric opens my door and ushers me into the passenger seat. It's as good a guess as any; it is Hawaii after all.

"I'm not saying," he replies with a smirk as he shuts the door behind me.

A small part of me can admit that I'm thrilled at the prospect of a surprise date. There is something kind of romantic about it, and I'll admit that I am looking forward to someone else taking the reins after the last week and a half of dealing with Portia and the convention.

Eric climbs in next to me, giving me one quick smile before slipping a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses on his head. Now, most of the time, I think men wearing aviators are either 1) douchey; or 2) desperate to find that lovin' feeling. Eric, however, looks absolutely normal in them. Of course. With a broad smile in my direction, he starts the car and peels out of Amelia's driveway.

The wind whips through my hair as he pulls onto the Kamehameha Highway, and I allow myself to relax and soak in the experience. I lean my head against the headrest and look over to study the man beside me. With the sunbeams reflecting off of his blond head, he looks even more unreal than usual. The wind has ruffled the longish strands of his hair, giving him a boyish charm that disguises the confident man I know is beneath.

After what seems like a while, but in reality is only a few minutes, we pull into an empty parking spot along the highway. It's a part of the beach that I haven't been to yet, though there are lots of those given that I've barely had time to breathe, much less go to the beach.

Eric once again comes around the car to help me out, and while I am quite capable of opening doors for myself, I wait for his assistance.

"Thanks." I feel breathless with the way he's looking at me, even behind those sunglasses.

"My pleasure," he says, dipping down to kiss me briefly. "You'll have to forgive me," he mumbles against my lips. "I can't seem to stop myself."

He reaches down and grabs my satchel, tossing it in the oversized beach bag that was residing in the minuscule backseat. "Come on," he says, grabbing my hand.

He kicks off his flip-flops when we reach the edge of the sand, and waits as I do the same. There are a fair number of people at the beach today, though nothing like the crowds that come on the weekend. He leads us purposefully towards a more isolated spot further from the water and spreads out two mats and towels next to each other.

I kneel down on one and look over my shoulder at the waves crashing against the shore. They are getting less violent as the spring months approach, but are still larger than anything I had ever seen before coming here. There are a couple dozen surfers bobbing in the water as they wait for the perfect crest.

I look back at Eric to see him watching me, and smile sheepishly in his direction. He has removed the black t-shirt and is now only in his board shorts. I try to keep my tongue in my mouth when he props himself on his arms, his eyes never leaving me.

"Aren't you hot in those?" he asks, nodding towards the scanty shorts and shirt that cover my bikini.

"Oh," I say nervously. "I…well…" It's the beach. He's seen me in my bikini before. It's no big deal. Yet, when I reach down and take the hem of my shirt in my hands, I feel incredibly self-conscious. Taking my clothes off while he's watching like this is too much. "This is probably going to sound weird, but can you look away?"

He chuckles and sits up fully. "Are you serious?"

I shrug and bite my lower lip.

"You do realize I'm going to see the end result either way, right?"

"Of course I realize that!" I exclaim. "It's just… I'm…"

"As you wish," he says, and turns his eyes back to the surfers in the water.

Realizing that's as good as I'm likely to get, I quickly pull my shirt over my head and push the denim shorts down over my hips. I quickly check to make sure that I'm not showing anything I shouldn't be, and when I look up, Eric is watching me. I'm glad I can't see his eyes; I'm sure I would die of embarrassment if I could.

"Sookie," he says, his voice raw. "There is absolutely no need to hide yourself."

"I wasn't…" I trail off with a shrug and quickly lay down on my stomach. For some reason, I am of the belief that it's not nearly as embarrassing to have him stare at my ass. Only… I hope it still looks perky in the black triangle.

I rest my chin on my fisted hands and try to ignore the rustle as Eric settles himself next to me.

"Sookie," he says, then repeats it again when I don't look at him. "Sookie."

I squeeze my eyes shut briefly and then force myself to look at him. He is on his side facing me, his head propped up by his arm. He reaches out and traces my spine with a whisper of a touch, skirting over the knotted bow on my back.

"How many bikinis do you own, Sookie?" he asks.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "A dozen or so?"

"Mmm," he mumbles, his hand resting at the top of the black triangle covering my rear end. "Do they get smaller and smaller, or am I just lucky today?"

"Eric!" I exclaim and prop myself up on my elbows. Bad move; it's just enough of a shift to move his hand that much lower.

"Yes Sookie?" he asks with a grin.

"Can we please talk about something other than my bikinis?"

"I'd rather not," he says with a shrug. "Unless you want to talk about what's under your bikini."

"Do you talk to all girls like this on first dates?"

"I'd hardly call this a typical first date. We know each other too well for that."

"Still," I say, and turn to the side to dislodge his hand from its resting place. "Can we please talk about something else?"

"Fine," he says and shifts to rest on both his elbows. "What would you like to discuss? The current state of the economy? Political persuasions? Office gossip?"

"Oh hush," I reply, and shift myself into a pose that mirrors his own. "Do you come out here and surf much?" I ask.

"I try to," he replies, looking out at the water. "I haven't much lately though."

"Why not?"

"I've been distracted," he says, and pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head before looking back at me, "distracted with other things."

"What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Surfing."

"It's hard to describe unless you've done it."

"I've got a pretty vivid imagination," I reply.

"Do you now?" he asks with a smirk. "Why don't you tell me more about that?"

"Stop it! Tell me about surfing," I persist.

"Fine, but we're going to go back to that imagination of yours before the day is done."

"Eric!"

"Okay, okay. It's exhilarating; you feel like you're on top of the world. It's like…"

"It's like what?" I ask when he doesn't say anything.

"I was going to say… well, no you'll probably get offended."

"I won't get offended," I insist. "When have I ever gotten offended?"

"All the time," he replies.

"Well, I won't get offended this time. Scouts honor." I hold my hand up in mock salute.

"Just remember you asked for it." I nod. "The only thing I can compare it to is sex," he says, looking straight at me.

"What don't you compare to sex?" I ask with a laugh.

"I mean it," he replies._ "____I can do it over and over, and it's always new; I always look forward to it, even if what I've already done was great. I never go home thinking I've had enough. I may be tired, sore, busy or tied up with work, but I always, always look forward to it."_

_"__Oh," I say, suddenly breathless. His words reverberate in my mind, leading me to think of all sorts of things I don't want to think about on a first date. Things I've tried not to think about ever since I saw him that day on the beach. I feel my skin heat and know he can see the blush that spreads across my entire body._

_"__I'd be willing to give you a few lessons if you'd like."_

_"__Lessons?" I ask, my voice a veritable squeak. I try to clear an image of what those lessons might look like from my mind. "What kind of lessons?"_

_"__Surfing lessons," he says with a chuckle, "though believe me, I'd be willing to give you whatever kind of lessons you'd like." _

_"__Surfing lessons," I repeat. "Um…"_

_"__I'm a very thorough teacher," he says, and shifts his head closer to mine. "I make sure to take my time, cover all of the bases."_

___I didn't think it was possible to be twenty-seven and this embarrassed. I was wrong._

"Whatdya say?" he asks. He has moved so close that his face is less than an inch away from mine.

"I say," I gasp as he pushes the oversized sunglasses back off my face. "I don't know."

"I could persuade you," he says, his hand toying with a strand of my hair that has come loose. "I rather think I'd enjoy that. And so would you of course," he adds with a smirk. "In fact, I think you'd enjoy it very much."

"Eric," I say, barely a whisper.

"Sookie." I can feel his breath on my lips, and nervously dart my tongue out to wet my lower lip. He groans and says my name again before closing the gap between our mouths. His kiss starts out as the lightest of touches, the wetness of my lips transferring to his. His hand grips the back of my head in a loose clasp, and he angles my face to a better advantage. His lips brush mine once, twice, three times.

"I thought of doing this to you that first day," he mumbles, shifting my body to face his. "The memory of you in that red bikini has been driving me crazy these past two months."

"Oh?" I ask, letting out a sigh when his hand runs down the length of my side.

"Yes," he replies with a nod. "Absolutely insane." He pulls back and looks at me through his heavy lidded eyes. "It's much better than I remembered." He leans forward and brushes his lips against mine again. "And as much as I'd like to continue, the crowded beach is hardly my idea of a good venue to explore this."

I can't believe that I have forgotten where we are. No, of course I can believe it. Eric has a way of making me forget myself. It's one of my favorite things about him.

"Probably not," I reply.

"We could always head back to my place," he suggests.

"Probably not," I repeat. I may be many things, but I am not going to be the kind of girl that falls into bed with a man on the first date. Again.

He rolls onto his back and covers his eyes with his hands. "You're going to be the death of me Stackhouse."

…

"You're not allergic to anything, are you?" he asks, distracting me from my lazy study of the side of his jaw. I've spent the last few minutes pondering how the minor stubble there would feel beneath my finger tips; well, if I'm being honest, I was wondering how it would feel against my lips, and yes, I do realize that might make me a bit more forward than I originally thought. It's been at least an hour since he kissed me last, much to my chagrin.

"Uh," I say, shaking my head clear, "no. Should I be worried?"

"Of course you should," he says, turning his head to look at me. "But," he continues, pushing himself up and sitting back on his knees, "not because of that question."

I am mesmerized as he brushes the specs of sand off of his tanned skin, and more than slightly embarrassed when he catches me watching him. He doesn't say anything, only smiles in my direction and begins to pack things in his bag.

"Are we going somewhere?" I ask, sitting upright.

"We are," he says with an affirmative nod.

"And you're not going to tell me where, are you?"

"What would be the fun in that?" he asks, and reaches out to brush sand off my shoulder.

The drive to our next destination is short, though completely unfamiliar. The traffic at this time of day isn't terribly heavy, though it becomes more congested when he turns onto a long dirt road.

"Where are we?" I ask, looking at the three big trucks parked in a field. There are makeshift stands circling the trucks, each peddling their wares to the heavy traffic. The field is full of cars, parked bumper to bumper. "Is there some kind of festival?" I ask with a frown.

"Nope," he says, swinging into an empty spot between two Ford Mustangs – both clearly rented. He reaches over and presses the release button on my seatbelt, before doing the same to his own. He is out the door and around the car before I can open my door, and reaches down to help me out. He doesn't let go of my hand, instead tightening his grip when I stand up and leading me towards the epicenter of the mysterious field.

We turn the corner and I see a couple of dozen picnic tables set between the trucks. I know exactly where we are; it's somewhere I've wanted to come since the moment I read about two months ago.

"Giovanni's?" I ask with a smile.

"Best shrimp on the North Shore," he replies, and directs me towards the empty end of a picnic table. "Don't let anyone tell you differently," he continues as I sit down. "You stay here and I'll go get the food."

I watch as he walks away, smiling to myself when he turns to check on me with a small wave. The line is six deep at the small window of the shrimp truck, and based on the flurry of activity I can see inside, this is not an unusual occurrence.

I force myself to look away from Eric and take in the view around me. There are at least sixty people here, crammed onto the splintered wooden tables to enjoy the shrimp delicacy. There are your typical tourists in their loud, freshly purchased Hawaiian shirts; the requisite screaming child or two; and locals mixed in the friendly setting. This, while still a place for tourists, feels more like a community, and less like a tourist trap.

I watch as a boy of probably five of six tries to master a heaping cup of shaved ice, smiling to myself when his little sister buries her face in his hand. It makes me think of Jason; of family. I had talked with Jason the week before, checking in to make sure he was taking care of himself, as had been my duty since Gran had passed. It's not that Jason isn't competent, he's just not very…careful. Yes, careful is a good word. That brother of mine manages to get up in all kinds of trouble without thinking twice. Truth be told, I miss him. Oh, I don't want to move back to Bon Temps just yet, but more and more I am realizing that leaving as abruptly as I had left me feeling less than comfortable with the whole situation.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Eric's deep voice asks, pulling me out of my thoughts of home.

"Nothing in particular," I say and smile up at him as he sets a heaping plate on the table and swings his long legs over the wooden bench across from me.

"I hope you weren't thinking about me with that frown on your face," he says, cracking open a can of soda and placing it in front of me.

"Of course not," I reply. "This smells divine," I add, peeling back the cover to reveal a pile of shrimp.

"It tastes even better," Eric replies, popping one in his mouth with a smirk. He picks up another. "Here," he continues, "try it." He holds the buttery shrimp in my direction. I reach out to take it from him, only to have him shake his head and bat my hand aside.

"Really?" I ask with uncertainty.

"Really," he replies with a nod. "Don't worry, I don't mind a bite now and then."

I shift uncomfortably on the bench before taking a deep breath and leaning forward. I wrap my lips around the shrimp, refusing to make eye contact with Eric. That would be too intimate. My lips brush against the pads of his fingertips as I bite down, but I hardly notice with the sensation of flavors bursting through my mouth.

I moan and close my eyes, savoring the butter and garlic as it touches my tongue. I'm not much of a shrimp eater on a normal day, but this is beyond delicious.

When I open my eyes, Eric is watching me with a hooded gaze.

"You, um," he says and clears his throat. "You've got a little butter right –" his finger brushes the corner of my lips. "Right there."

He pulls his hand back and licks at the butter on his thumb - the butter that had been on my mouth. I feel overheated, and it is from much more than the sun beating down on me.

If I'm going to date Eric Northman – and God knows I'm going to date Eric Northman – I'm going to have to get over this ridiculous fluster I feel every time he looks at me. Because if I don't, there's no way in hell I'm going to make it.

**

* * *

AN:** They're dating! They're dating! It's a Christmas miracle!

A big, whopping thanks to **pfloogs72** for making this chapter readable. If you're not reading her Life Imitating Art, you should be! (Is that enough exclamations? I'm looking at you **seasonblogs**)

And finally… have you ever read a fanfic where Eric is completely awesome and Sookie is an idiot? Has that made your stomach turn? If so, boy oh boy, do I have a contest for you!

The talented and hysterical **peppermintyrose** is hosting the Saint Eric contest, designed to point out Eric's flaws (come on, you know he has a few!) and to balance out the rest. Entries are being accepted Jan 1 – Feb 25. It promises to be a fantastic contest, and I hope you'll all enter. For additional details, go to www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net / ~sainteric


	16. Chapter 16: Acid Drop

**~Chapter 16: Acid Drop~**

"I am sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Davis," I say, tucking my too long bangs behind my ear as I look at the irate man before me. Despite the signs posted throughout the hotel and the notes placed in each room notifying the guests that there would be repair work done on the drive, he has determined that it is somehow my fault that he cannot access the vehicle he parked in the parking structure. Never mind that the parking attendant offered to valet his vehicle to an accessible lot.

"You should be," he says in a huff. "It is imperative that I am at that meeting!"

"Of course," I say, plastering on my customer service smile. "And our shuttle driver would be more than willing to drive you to and from your appointment."

"It's the principle of the matter!" he exclaims. "I pay good money for the convenience and service of this hotel, and this is what I get?"

It is getting harder to smile. "The repair work will be complete by noon," I repeat for what must be the fifth time. "And we will of course see to it that you are not inconvenienced more than you already have been. As a token of our appreciation of your understanding, here are two vouchers for dinner at Molokai. Anything you want, on us."

The vouchers seem to mollify him slightly. "I suppose that helps," he says, with a grim smile. "But it won't if I don't make it to my meeting on time," he adds.

What I want to say, and what I do say are two very different things, as is often the case in this job.

"Of course," I say, and walk around the counter to stand next to the man. "Allow me to show you the way to the shuttle driver." I begin to walk before he can respond, and smile to myself when I hear his footsteps behind me. "I have already called ahead and informed Tray that you will need immediate assistance." Not that Stan Davis wanted me to when I first suggested the alternative.

The introduction goes as smoothly as it can, all things considered. It's a good thing that Trey Dawson has the patience of a saint, though I suppose you might need to in the job he's in. I can't imagine having to drive people around all day, especially since most of our guests only used the shuttle service as a last minute resort like Mr. Davis.

I wait until the town car is out of view before leaving – I certainly am not going to leave Tray dangling with the likes of Stan Davis, or at least not more than I have to. As soon as I'm sure I won't be needed, I begin to head back to the front desk.

The long hallway leading back to the main lobby is empty, the loud echo of my shoes on the hardwood floor sounds like a drum. Despite the conference being over for more than twenty-four hours, the hotel's occupancy isn't at it's normal level. Not that I'm complaining; far from it. It's been hard enough dealing with the limited number of guests as it is. My ability to concentrate today is as good as my ability to… well, surf.

Eric had dropped me off on my front step at four, after I'd used an excuse to get out of going to dinner with him. I wanted to. Of course I did. But spending the entire day with Eric; having Eric touch and kiss me at every opportunity; it was more than I knew how to handle. If I had agreed to dinner, I probably would have agreed to a lot more. I am sooo not ready to agree to more, despite what my libido tells me.

I am so wrapped up in my thoughts of yesterday's date that I don't hear the telltale sounds of footsteps behind me. I don't hear anything until my name is whispered in my ear. And I don't have time to react before I am pulled into the open doorway of a storage closet.

"Eric!" I squeal, doing everything I can to keep my composure when his lips nibble on the crook of my neck. I push at him, more based on principle than actual desire to have him move away. My knees begin to weaken and I feel his lips curve into a smile when I let out a sigh.

"You know," he says against my skin, "you do taste as good as you look."

"We're at work!"

"Pretty AND smart," he says with a chuckle, moving his lips up the column of my neck.

"Eric," I say, more forcefully, pulling as far away from him as the small closet will allow. I nearly lose my resolve when I see the smirk on his face and feel the heat of his eyes. "I'm going to repeat: we are at work."

"And I own the place," he says with a shrug, and reaches out for me again. "Or, my family does."

I slap his hands away and shake my head. "Which makes this even worse." I back up until my hand is on the doorknob. "I've got to get back to the front desk."

"Spoilsport."

"I am what I am," I say with a shrug. Then, allowing myself a moment's reprieve, I reach out and brush my fingertips against his downturned mouth. "There's plenty of time for this later."

I crack the door open and peak my head out to make sure no one is in the hall. "All clear," I say, with a look over my shoulder.

"Come over tonight," he says, running his hand down my spine. I try to repress the shiver I feel unsuccessfully and turn to face him.

"Eric," I say, shaking my head. "We agreed-"

"I just want to have dinner with you. I won't try to get you in bed."

I roll my eyes. "Like I believe that." I look pointedly at his hand that is resting on my waist, less than an inch from the bottom of my breasts.

"Okay, okay. You have a point. I will stay on my best behavior for as long as I can manage. I promise." He looks so earnest that I find myself agreeing to go to his house when I get off at six-thirty.

I am halfway out the door when he pulls me back and presses his lips against mine one more time. I rush out before anything more can happen, hurrying back to the lobby on shaky legs. I avoid looking at myself in the mirrors along the way, sure that there will be telltale signs of what I've just been doing.

"You know," Arlene snaps when I round the corner of the concierge desk, "part of being a concierge is actually being _at _the desk."

"Sorry Arlene," I say, sliding behind the counter. It's not worth the argument with her; not when I already feel guilty about what I had been doing.

"Yes, well…" she starts, looking stunned at my acquiescence. "Don't do it again."

…

Six-thirty comes more quickly than I thought it would when I had left Eric in that closet. Between making reservations for a helicopter tour for a young family, and arranging an impromptu beach dinner for a honeymooning couple, I am dead on my feet when I make it out to my car.

The drive to Eric's house is short, and the sun is low on the horizon when I pull into the gated driveway. I haven't been at the Northman house since the night of their party when I had realized Eric was my Surfer Leif. I have pointedly avoided going to Eric's house since that night, afraid of what would happen if I did. Today is no exception; I have to give myself a pep talk to get out of the car. Just because I am at his house does not mean that anything is going to happen. Right?

I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell. The door swings open on the last chime, as if Eric had been standing nearby, waiting for my arrival.

"There you are," he says, stepping aside to let me past.

"It's only seven," I say. My arm brushes against the soft cotton of his shirt when I walk by him, and a rash of goose bumps breaks out. Great. Visceral reactions for the win!

"It only takes ten minutes to get here from the hotel," he points out. His hand touches the small of my back, propelling me forward from the foyer and into the pristine living room. "Let me take your coat," he says, and helps me out of the light jacket I'd put on. I've completely acclimated to the tropical temperature, and even the slightest dip in temperature feels drastic.

He takes my bag from me once my jacket is off, and lays both of them across the back of the oversized couch.

"I hope you're hungry," he says and begins to walk towards the kitchen area.

"Did you cook?" I ask with a laugh as I trail after him. From what Pam has said, Eric has a hard time making toast. I can only imagine what is in store for dinner if that is the case.

"Funny," he says over his shoulder and steps through the kitchen's doorway. "I picked up take out from Lafayette before I left the hotel."

There is a veritable feast spread out on the kitchen's island, with enough food to feed at least a dozen.

"Are Pam and Amelia joining us?" I ask and stop when I am standing next to him.

"Nope," he says, leaning down and brushing his lips across my temple. "It's just the two of us."

"Oh."

He steps back with a chuckle and hands me a plate. "I thought we could fill up our plates and go eat on the lanai."

"That sounds nice," I reply with a smile, and take the plate. "But it's a bit chilly tonight. I should go get my jacket."

"Nope," he replies, tossing his arm over my shoulder. "I reserve the right to warm you up if you get a chill."

"Eric," I groan, and fight the urge to relax against him. "I thought you said you'd be on your best behavior?"

"I'm just being chivalrous," he replies with a pat on my arm. He lets go of me and begins to fill his plate. "Besides, I started the space heater before you got here."

He piles his plate high with the delicacies before us and heads out towards the lanai, returning a few moments later with empty hands.

"I have a nice bottle of white if you're up to it," he says, reaching into the cherry wood wine cabinet that dominates a wall of the kitchen.

"Sounds nice."

"Come on slowpoke," he calls over his shoulder as he heads back outside.

This isn't so bad. It's dinner between two people; two people who like to make out now and then. Still. This is no different than the countless number of dinners I had with him before we became whatever we are.

I step out onto the lanai, my plate in hand and am stunned by what I see. While the lanai is beautiful in and of itself, Eric has gone through the effort of lighting what seems like hundreds of candles of various shapes and sizes. I am frozen in place until he comes over and takes my plate from my hand with a chuckle.

"Pam thought you might like this," he says with a shrug, and turns around to set my plate down. "I told her it might be too much, but you know how she is."

"It's perfect," I say, barely above a whisper. No one has ever gone through such effort for me.

"Good," he replies, with a crooked smile. He pulls out a chair and holds his hand in my direction. "Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there all night?"

"No, I…" I start with a shake of my head. I reach out and take his hand.

"Don't be," he says firmly, and helps me push my chair in when I sit down.

I sit in stunned silence as he sits across from me and picks up his knife and fork. He doesn't say anything before putting a bite of fish in his mouth. He looks up and sees me watching him.

"Is this weird?" he asks when he swallows. "I told Pam this would be weird. I don't want you to think that I did this to –"

"No!" I say, a little to vehemently. "Sorry…it's just," I shrug and reach for my glass of wine. "No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

"Really?" he asks with a confused look on his face.

"Really."

"Well, they're idiots," he says and reaches out to cover my hand with his own. "This is nothing."

"That's where you're wrong," I reply.

I pull my hand away, afraid what I may say next if I don't busy myself, and laboriously cut the fish on my plate. When I meet his gaze again, he is looking at me with a glint in his eye. He says nothing, only smiles and picks up his own knife and fork.

We eat in companionable silence. I chew my food like a crazed macrobiotic while I try to get my emotions under control. I'm not typically very emotional, well besides feeling flustered and embarrassed; those feelings I'm more than used to. But this? This rush of emotion over something so simple is foreign to me.

"Thank you," I say finally, breaking the silence.

"You're welcome." He doesn't say anything else, which is exactly what I need. He breaks the spell by telling me about the day's surfing lessons, and how he caught Claudine and Alcide in a compromising position on the paddle boards.

"You're joking!" I say, my shoulders shaking with laughter.

"I wish," he says with a grimace. "You know I like Alcide, but I could've gone my entire life without seeing his bare ass."

"Well," I say, picking up my wine and taking a drink, "I guess they're two consenting adults. Who are we to judge?"

"True," he says with a smirk. "I am all about consent."

"I'm sure you are," I say, and stand up to take my empty plate inside. "You done?" I ask, reaching to grab his.

"You don't have to clean up," he replies, placing his hand on my outstretched wrist.

"I know I don't," I reply, and snatch my hand free. "But where I'm from, we carry our share of the load." I grab his plate and make my way to the kitchen. As soon as I cross the threshold, I realize the error of my ways. While I know my way into the kitchen, I have no idea where anything goes, or which cabinet disguises their dishwasher.

I feel, more than hear, him come up behind me. I turn my head to see him leaning against the doorway with a smirk on his face.

"I, uh, guess I don't know where anything goes," I say sheepishly.

"Just set it on the counter," he says with an incline of his head. "I'll take care of it when you go."

"I don't mind," I say, doing exactly what he told me to do.

"I appreciate the thought," he says, stepping forward and taking my hand in his. "But it is not necessary. I'd rather sit with you. Let's go back outside."

I reluctantly agree. This is the part of the night that I am nervous about; the part where it is just the two of us with nothing to distract us from each other. This is where I might agree to do something I will later regret; or maybe I won't regret it. I can't decide.

He leads me to a seating area on the far corner of the lanai. I never understood the concept of outdoor couches, but they seem to fit perfectly here. He sits down and pats the seat next to him. I take a seat, leaving enough room between us for someone else to slide in. It's silly, I know, but that doesn't stop me from doing it.

"Come here," he says with a chuckle, and pulls me towards him, throwing his arm around my shoulder and running his hand up and down my bare arm.

Realizing resistance is futile, I adjust myself until my legs are tucked beneath me and rest my head on his shoulder. I may not want to admit it freely, but being near him is comforting. Despite the swirl of emotions it elicits, his touch also brings a certain calmness to my life.

"Isn't this better?" he asks, sinking further into the couch and puling me that much closer.

"Mmm," I mumble my assent.

"And just think, you could have had this two months ago."

"Two months ago," I start, adjusting my head so I can look at him, "you would have had your way and tossed me to the side."

"Not true!" he insists.

"Very true," I reply with a smile. "Can you honestly say that you were looking for anything more than a quick fling that day on the beach? That you cared about anything but the way I filled out my bikini?"

He doesn't reply for a minute, his lips set in a firm line. "You do that quite well."

I laugh and jokingly elbow him in the ribs. "You are such a pig."

"What can I say?" he asks pulling me until I am sitting on his lap and looking down at him. "I have a one track mind when it comes to you."

"If all you had was a one track mind, I wouldn't be sitting here."

"I don't know about that," he says, cupping the back of my head and pulling my face down to meet his. "Right about here is exactly where I wanted you then. Though with less clothes of course."

I feel my skin start to burn with embarrassment, but that feeling is quickly replaced when his lips meet mine. I sink against him; sink into the kiss. I don't care how many times we've kissed in the last forty-eight hours – and we've kissed a lot – I don't think I'll ever lose that fluttery feeling in my stomach. Eric kisses with passion and experience, moving, touching in ways that are designed to make me melt, and I do.

I pull back to catch my breath and sigh when he buries his face into the crook of my neck.

"Can you stay here like this forever?" he asks between nips.

"I don't know if my boss would approve," I tease. "He's a real hard ass."

"I have seen the way you look at my ass. I'm glad you approve of it."

"You're terrible," I say with a laugh and pull away further to look down at him.

"I'm charming," he retorts.

"Mmmm, I'm sure that's what everyone tells you."

"You're the one sitting on my lap," he points out. "I have to be at least a bit charming, right?"

I shrug and look over his shoulder at the flickering lights of the candles behind his head.

"I don't know what to think about you. I've never met a man like you before."

"What do you mean?" He reaches up and toys with the strap of my sundress, running his fingers along the skin on either side.

"I…I…well, I suppose I think I shouldn't like you," I say, suppressing the shudder I feel at his touch. "You say things that would make the most scandalous woman blush."

"I already told you I like to watch you get flustered," he says, leaning up and kissing a trail behind his fingers.

"And I shouldn't like that about you," I say. "But I do."

"Good," he mumbles, continuing his trail.

"I guess that means I'll be able to handle whatever those guys throw at me when I'm back in Bon Temps."

He stops kissing my skin and sits back, looking up at me.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Going back. To Louisiana."

"Oh," I say. "I-I don't know."

His face contorts into a frown in the shadows and immediately wish I hadn't said anything.

"I guess I haven't really considered staying," I say, trying to fill the awkward silence with anything.

"Why not?"

"I…" I trail off. "I don't know really. I suppose I just assumed I couldn't stay here forever."

"Hmm," he says with a resolute nod. His hands trail down to my waist, and he pulls me closer to him. "I guess I'm going to have to convince you then."

And he sets about doing just that. His lips seek mine out, and his hands are everywhere, dancing lightly on my already sensitive skin. Without breaking the kiss, he picks me up and arranges my legs on either side of his, our bodies touching intimately through the layers of clothes between us. He touches every inch of skin exposed by my modest sundress, and is inching up the skirt to touch even more when I hear my mobile phone ring.

"Eric," I murmur, and repeat when he doesn't stop. "Eric. Stop."

"Is that a yes, you'll stay?"

My phone stops ringing. Whoever it is can leave a message if it's important. Right now I can think of nothing but the feel of Eric beneath me. I shake my head. "I'm not entirely convinced," I tease, seeking his lips out again.

His hands move swiftly down my body, lingering at the sides of my breasts, before clasping onto my hips and pulling me fully against him. I hear my heavy breathing, mingled with his own and the sound of the water lapping the shore of the beach. Yet it is oddly quiet; so quiet that I can almost hear the beating of my own heart, which is ridiculously fast.

"Stay," he mumbles against my lips.

I shake my head.

"Stay," he repeats.

"Eric," I start, feeling muddled. I know I shouldn't; truly I do.

"Sookie," he replies mockingly. I feel his lips curve into a smile against my skin.

"I should go," I whisper.

"You should stay. Pam is staying with Amelia tonight."

"I-"

"Sookie," he pleads. "We're both adults. We don't need to wait."

"I need to use the restroom." It's a failsafe ruse, I won't deny it. I need a moment to clear my head, to make a decision without his hands or lips playing a role.

He sighs and releases me. I stand up awkwardly, turning around and smoothing my dress over my hips. He reaches out and grabs my hand; I look down at him.

"I want you to stay Sookie."

I bite my lower lip and nod, turning around without saying a word. I hurry into the house and make my way blindly to the bathroom. It's ironic really, running to the exact same bathroom I had on the night of the party. How things had changed. While both times were escapes from overwhelming feelings in relation to Eric, the ending result of a splash of water on my face is different.

This time when I look in the mirror, I make the decision to stay. There is no need to delay the inevitable, and I know going to bed with Eric is inevitable. If for no other reason than my body's response to a single look; a single touch. While I may not be a one-night stand kind of girl, I'd be a fool to slap my libido in the face. I know this will be more than one night. How many nights? I cannot say; but at least more than one.

I give myself a quick pep talk before turning the door handle and stepping out into the hallway. I hurry back through the living room; I don't want to give myself time to second guess myself.

The red flashing light on my Blackberry distracts me and I stop in my tracks. Maybe one final distraction won't hurt. This is a big decision after all. I reach into my bag to check my cell phone and frown when I see the caller ID on the call I had missed.

"That's weird," I say to myself, pressing the speed dial button for my voicemail.

"Sookie?" Eric's voice calls. I look up to see him standing in the doorway, looking adorably rumpled. I smile and hold my finger up, instructing him to wait.

That smile, however, is replaced too quickly with a frown. I hang up the call at the end of the message, slowly lowering my hand to my side and sitting down on the overstuffed cushion of the couch.

"Sookie," Eric repeats, coming to my side. "Is everything okay?"

I look at him blankly then back down at my phone. Any thought of staying with Eric tonight is thrown out the window.

"I guess that depends on your definition of okay."

**

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AN:** ***ducks for cover***

Massive thanks to **pfloogs72** for pre-reading the Surfer (and everything else!) and keeping me on track. If you aren't reading her Life Imitating Art, you are missing out. Go do so, now.

And if you already are (or have just finished) and want more, might I point you to the Saint Eric competition, and the promotional fics? Entries are being accepted Jan 1 – Feb 25. For additional details, go to www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net / ~sainteric

And finally, thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. I sound like a broken record, but I cannot express my thanks to you all for sticking with this story. I promise the road ahead isn't too bumpy (no matter what you think after this chapter!)


	17. Chapter 17: Broskie

**AN:** I guess I need to apologize for the giant cliff I left you hanging on last week. *looks around sheepishly* Good news… you are mere sentences away from finding out who called her and what the heck is going on.

But first… massive thank you to all of you who are still reading. I am not very good about responding to reviews, but please know that I appreciate the fact that you're reading and liking it enough to review!

And thanks to **pfloogs72** for pre-reading!

**

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~~Chapter 17: Broskie~~**

"Jason Stackhouse!" I yell, and push the front door to his house open. I have been traveling for the last twenty-four hours and want nothing more than to climb into bed and sleep it off, but there are more pressing matters at hand.

Jason's head peeks around the doorway to his bedroom; his hair is rumpled in the way only one thing can do. Fantastic.

"Sook?" he asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Do you have another sister who looks and sounds like me?" I ask, tossing my carry on suitcase down with a thud.

"Hold on," he says, and ducks back into his bedroom. He reappears twenty seconds later, tying the knot on his cotton pajama bottoms.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" he asks. He looks down at my suitcase and back at me. "Did you tell me you were coming to visit and I just don't remember?"

"Do you have something you want to tell me, oh brother of mine?"

The look of confusion that crosses his face would almost be comical if I wasn't so upset with him.

"Were you planning on even calling me?" I ask. "Or do I not matter to you anymore? I mean, I'm your last remaining family member and you couldn't bother to call me and let me know… oh you know… that you GOT MARRIED!"

He looks like a deer in headlights.

"Yeah. I found out about that." I shove past him and walk into the kitchen. I need something to distract myself, before I do anything too drastic. I jerk out his teakettle and fill it with water, setting it on the stove to give myself a moment to think.

As if getting interrupted when I had been about to have sex with Eric wasn't enough, it was by a message from Bill Compton, asking me if I needed a ride from the airport to go to my brother's wedding reception.

"I had to hear it from _Bill_," I say when I hear Jason's footsteps behind me. "My ex-boyfriend who I haven't talked to in two months is the one who tells me that my older brother went and got himself hitched."

"Calm right down, Sook," Jason says.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do, Jason Stackhouse!" I yell, turning to face him.

"I just meant it's not a big deal," he says with a shrug. "I was going to tell you. Honest. We just didn't plan it exactly."

"That much is obvious," I reply with a huff.

"Aw, Sook," he replies, jumping to sit on the counter next to me. "I was gonna call and tell you, but we just got back from New Orleans ourselves."

"Yet you had time to plan a party, but not call your own sister?"

"I didn't plan no party," he says adamantly. "Crystal's family did all that."

"Jason!"

"Okay, okay." He shakes his head and looks down at his swinging feet. "It was wrong of me not to tell you. Is that what you want?"

No. What I really want, if I'm being honest, is to be back in Hawaii. If I'm being honest, I really want to be in bed with Eric Northman without a care in the world. Instead, I'm standing in a kitchen in Bon Temps, ready to murder my own brother.

"What in the hell were you thinking?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," I say, "how in the hell did a guy like you go off and get himself married?"

"Whatdya mean a 'guy like me'?"" he asks with a scowl. "What are you implying there, Sookie?"

"Oh hush," I say with a dismissive wave. "You're the biggest whore in Renard Parish – including Jane Bodehouse - and you know it." He has the gall to look shocked. It only pisses me off more. "Don't you play stupid with me, Jason."

"I'm not playing anything," he says, his voice laced with anger. "Who do you think you are barging into my house like this and reading me the riot act?"

"I'm your sister is who I am, you big dummy!" I exclaim, and push away from the counter. "And you're the one that got married without telling anyone, lest you forget. Who's the lucky lady, by the way? Have I met her?" I know who she is. Or her name at least. Tara had filled me in on the details that Bill's message hadn't.

Jason scowls at me and sets his mouth in a firm line.

"The lucky lady is me," a voice says from behind me. I swirl around to see a small blonde woman standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but Jason's old high school football jersey. I feel myself blush, even through my anger at Jason. This isn't exactly how I planned on meeting my sister-in-law for the first time.

She steps forward and offers me her hand. "Crystal Norris," she says. I take her extended hand and shake it. Her grip is firm, and I know she isn't going to be easily intimated by me. It makes me respect her a bit already.

"Aw, honey," Jason says from his perch on the counter. "I thought we agreed you'd be going by Crystal Stackhouse now that we're married." He jumps off his seat and walks behind Crystal, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling the side of her neck. "Unless you don't wanna be married."

"You shut your mouth, Jason Stackhouse!" she reprimands, shrugging out of his grip. "I told you that you needed to call your sister about this wedding, and did you? No. You were too busy trying to get me out of my pants."

"I don't seem to recall you complaining," he replies, with a shrug.

"Not the time, Jason!"

I shrink back from their fight, wondering if it is possible to be more embarrassed than I am right now. The self-righteous indignation I'd felt upon my arrival quickly replaced by something else entirely. I've never seen Jason like this around a woman; never seen a woman stand up to him except myself and Gran, of course.

"I don't reckon this is the way I thought I'd be meeting you, Sookie," Crystal says, tugging at the hem of the jersey and moving to take the kettle off of the burner. She efficiently goes about making a pot of tea before turning back to face me. "You'll have to forgive my appearance. I seem to lose my head when it comes to this one." She nods in the direction of the table, where Jason is sitting and currently working his way through a bag of pretzels.

"Don't worry about it," I say, wanting to reassure her for some reason.

"Sometimes these men know just what to say or do to make you lose your head," she adds with a laugh. "And then you find yourself in bed with them and you can't remember what made you mad in the first place."

"Tell me about it," I respond. "I've been in that situation myself not that long ago," I say with a smile. A memory of Eric's kisses on his lanai the night of the phone call spring into my mind. I know exactly what she means. Well, not the bed part. Yet.

"You've been sleeping with someone?" Jason interrupts. I look over to see him watching me menacingly. "Who in the hell are you hopping into bed with?"

"Don't you even start with her, Jason Stackhouse!" Crystal says before I can defend myself.

He pushes up from the table and walks over to me. "Don't you think I have a right to know who my sister is sleeping with?"

"As a matter of fact," I reply, meeting his intimidating gaze with my own. "No. You have no right."

"Sookie, I will not have you sleeping with every-"

"Jason, honey," Crystal interjects, placing a hand on his chest. "Why don't you run to the store and pick us up one of those nice fried chickens for lunch?"

"Aw, Crystal," he starts, looking away from me towards his small wife. "I'm talking to my sister. I don't think I need to go get any chicken."

"Jason," she says, her honey-laden voice laced with steel. "You wouldn't want me to get angry, would you?" she asks, and just like that, he turns around like a puppy with his tail tucked between his legs.

"Wow," I say, looking from his retreating figure back to her. "You certainly have his number."

She shrugs and walks to the counter, where she pours me a cup of tea. "He's not a bad guy. He's just a little caveman from time to time."

"You can say that again," I reply, taking the cup from her hand and taking a sip. I hear Jason's truck engine roar to life and move over to the table and take Jason's empty seat. "I'm sorry, this is just a little too weird for me."

"I imagine it is," she replies, and sits across from me. "It's a bit weird for me, truth be told. I thought we were taking a trip down to New Orleans for a concert; that we'd get a hotel room with a nice big bath to share and well…" she trails off with a slight blush. "I don't reckon you need to know the details about what we planned. But the next thing I knew, we had a little too much to drink and we'd applied for a marriage license. Got married twenty-four hours later with two strange witnesses and here we are," she finishes with a shrug.

"That's it?" I ask incredulously. "That's what happened? You got drunk and got married?"

"Not exactly like that," she says. "It wasn't some Britney Spears thing, even if we are from Louisiana. We applied when we were a bit drunk, but we got married completely sober."

"I don't mean to be rude, but… why?" When she looks at me like she doesn't understand, I continue. "I mean, you seem like the type of girl that would fall for Jason's lines."

"Why Sookie Stackhouse, are you saying I'm not one of his typical bimbos?" she asks, placing a hand on her chest in mock modesty.

I laugh and nod. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

"I think I will take that as a compliment."

"You should," I reply. "Jason doesn't exactly have the best track record when it comes to the women he dates."

"Sometimes," she says, leaning forward over the table as if she's letting me in on a big secret. "Sometimes it's the ones you never expect who turn out to be right for you. It just takes the right kind of woman to make men like Jason see the error of their ways."

An image of Eric swims before my eyes, and I feel myself begin to grin. I am sure it is as goofy looking as heck, but can't stop myself.

"You seem to know exactly what I mean," Crystal says, and I turn my focus back to her.

"I…uh…"

"All I can say is good luck to you, Sookie. It takes a good woman to turn a man like that."

…

I stay at Jason's house longer than I initially had planned. I had thought I would go inside, yell a bit and leave. Instead, I don't end up climbing back into the little car I had rented at the airport until closer to eight-thirty, after a promise to come over in the morning and help with the preparations for the party the following evening.

I pull out my phone when I settle myself in the car and see that I have three text messages and one missed call. The call is from Amelia, and so is one of the text messages. The other two messages are from Eric and Tara. I'm not quite ready to read whatever Eric has to say, and open Tara's message instead.

_**I'm here when you are **_

I had called Tara as soon as I had arranged my flight home, letting her know that I'd be staying at the house so that she didn't freak out if she saw some of the lights on if she drove out to check on it. She'd tried to insist on coming to get me at the airport in Shreveport, but I wasn't about to let her close down her store for little old me.

As much as I had enjoyed living alone in the old farmhouse, the thought of sleeping alone so far from civilization after having lived with Amelia for so long seemed less than appealing. Add in the fact that my ex-boyfriend still lived across the cemetery, and I was more than happy to acquiesce when she suggested staying with me.

Tara's car is parked on the side of the house, and the front porch light illuminates a good expanse of the gravel driveway as I pull up. I climb out of the car and stop for a moment, taking in my surroundings. I had forgotten how silent it was at the farmhouse; how isolated it is from everything else.

The silence is soon broken by the banging of the screen door and Tara calling my name.

"Sookie!" she calls, running down the steps and embracing me in a hug. "Let me look at you!" She takes a step back and looks me over from head to toe.

"Oh goodness," I start, "I'm sure I look a right mess." I haven't slept in ages, and it isn't as if I had dolled myself up for the long plane ride to begin with.

"You hush," she says, reaching down and taking the keys from my hand. She pops open my trunk and walks around to grab my suitcase. "You always were such a pretty little thing, but it looks like Hawaii has done you some good."

She grabs my hand and begins to pull me towards the house. "I was wondering if you'd ever make it here. I thought maybe you'd been accosted by Bill and I'd have to come rescue you."

I look back over my shoulder, across the cemetery to the old Compton place. I can't see much really, just the flickering lights through the heavy trees.

"He stopped by earlier, you know," she continues, guiding me into the house. It still smells the way I remember, albeit slightly mustier. Then again, it has been closed up for over two months, I can't expect anything more.

"He did?" I ask, running my hand along the bannister, then stopping in my tracks. "Wait," I say. "He did?"

"Yep," she nods, setting my suitcase down in the living room. "About an hour ago. Said he had heard you were back in town today. Kendra ran into your brother at the store, or something?"

"Yeah," I start. Word travels fast. I had forgotten how fast in a town the size of Bon Temps. Oh, I had known when I booked my plane ticket that I would inevitably see Bill; I just thought maybe I'd have a little more time.

"Anyway," she says, sitting down on the couch and patting the seat next to her. "I told him that you weren't here and he shouldn't bother coming back tonight since the two of us need to catch up."

"You didn't!"

"Why not?" she asks with a shrug. "It's not as if I owe him anything. And he's not the only one who hasn't seen you in two months," she points out.

"What did he say?" I ask. Bill had never been much of a fan of Tara, or vice versa. I can only imagine how that conversation would have ended.

"He said you had some unfinished business he wanted to talk to you about. I don't reckon what he can possibly have to say to you after two months. I mean, sure, he moped around town for a while after you left, but he sure as heck didn't wait that long before starting to date that new realtor."

"Bill has a new…girlfriend?" I ask, not daring to hope. Perhaps this won't be as difficult as I initially thought. I hadn't been able to do anything but think about the inevitable confrontation with Bill on that long flight home. That phone call I'd made so many weeks ago wasn't going to make everything go away, that much I knew. But if he really has moved on, maybe it won't be as awkward.

"Oh sure," Tara says with a shrug. "She's got some weird name. Selena or something. I don't know. They came into the store a few weeks ago and he bought her some clothes. You know, how he used to try to buy stuff for you all the time? She didn't seem to have any problem with it."

That had always been one of the problems with Bill. He had seemed to think he could buy my affection with money, and I had always been insulted that he tried; as if I couldn't afford to buy the things I need.

"But enough about Bill Compton," Tara continues. "I'm sure you've got plenty of interesting things to tell me about your big adventure. Please tell me you found some hot islander to make you forget all about Bill!"

"Not an islander," I start with a smile.

"But someone?" she asks, a hopeful lilt in her voice.

"Um…kind of," I say with a shrug. More than kind of.

"Oh, do tell!" she squeals, then places her hand on my wrist. "No, not yet. I brought some food and a bottle of wine with me. Why don't you go take your suitcase to your room and freshen up a bit. I want details, and I want no excuses for you to stop!"

"Tara!" I start to protest. Knowing Tara as well as I do, she won't be happy until she knows all the details, from how many times I've kissed Eric to the thoughts I have about him when I drift off to sleep at night.

"Nuh uh," she says, pushing herself up off the couch and heading into the kitchen. "No protests."

I sit, stunned for a moment before shrugging and doing exactly as she says. I know there is no point in fighting with Tara on a good day, and I'm so exhausted that I can't pretend that I stand a fighting chance.

I pick up my carry-on suitcase and handbag and make my way to the bedroom I'd taken over after Gran passed. I quickly freshen up in the bathroom, and take my phone out to reply to the rest of my messages.

The call to Amelia is nothing more than a quick check in. She's at the hotel covering one of the shifts I'd missed because of this ridiculous excursion, and hangs up without so much as a goodbye after telling me she's happy I'm home.

I make my way back to the living room, phone in hand and sit back on the couch before checking the message from Eric.

_**Call me when you have time ~E**_

It is straight forward and to the point, not that I expect anything else from Eric. Despite liking to rile me up, he's not the type of person that's going to get all flowery over a text message. That being said, even his simple message puts a goofy grin on my face.

"Oh I see that, girl," Tara says. I look up to see her walking into the living room with two large glasses of wine.

"See what?" I ask, feeling like a teenager caught exchanging notes in the classroom.

"Who put that goofy grin on your face?" She sits down and hands a glass to me. "And don't you even think about lying. I know you too well to know if you're telling the truth"

I set my phone down next to me and take a sip of the wine, nervously licking my lip before answering her.

"Um…" I start. "Well. I…uh… kind of met someone."

She lets out a holler and nearly spills her wine in the process. "I knew it!" she says, taking a large drink. "Please tell me he's gorgeous and has rocked your world in and outside of the bedroom."

"Well," I say, "he's gorgeous…"

"And?" she asks expectantly.

"And…"

"You haven't slept with him?" she shrieks. "Why in the hell not? I thought you had that revelation where you were going to be more adventurous."

Oh yeah. I had told Tara about my list of things to change about myself. I hadn't, however, told her about the revision where I decided I wasn't so much as kissing someone for two months. That wasn't something I was too keen to advertise. As far as she was concerned, I went to Hawaii to be a different person, not the Sookie who she knows.

"I have been more adventurous," I insist.

"So, how many men have you slept with?" When I shake my head, she continues. "Kissed?" I start to blush. "Oh, please tell me you've at least kissed someone!"

I nod.

"Hallelujah!" she says. "You made out with someone and you didn't hop into a relationship with him? That's progression."

"Well…" I trail off. It's true that what Eric and I have isn't exactly defined as a relationship. "No," I shake my head. "Not really."

"Sookie," she starts. "Please tell me you aren't in love with a new guy? Please tell me you just think he's hot and are having fun."

"I'm not in love with anyone!" I insist honestly. "And he is hot, and we are having fun. Or, at least, starting to have fun." Would have had more fun even if this little hiccup hadn't come along.

"That's good, I think." She takes a drink. "Tell me all about it."

And I do. I tell her about meeting him on the beach; about finding out who Surfer Leif really was. She mutters a "mother fucker" when I tell her about my run in with Quinn, and cheers – yes, actually cheers – when I relay the story of how Eric put Quinn in his place.

"So, he's a hot surfer who has done all this ridiculously nice stuff for you, despite having a reputation as a.. what was it?"

"Guaranteed panty dropper," I say with a blush.

"Yes," she says with a laugh. "A guaranteed panty dropper. I'll have to remember that. Anyway, he's done all this and you're attracted to him AND he's a good kisser?" I nod. "Then what in the hell are you waiting for? An invitation?"

"I…I don't know," I say with a shrug. "I wanted to prove something to myself; that I could wait to hop into bed with a guy that I liked-"

"So you _like_ him do you?" she taunts.

"Shut up Tara!" I warn, before continuing. "As I was saying, I was trying to prove something to myself."

"And did you?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say, with a slow nod. "I think I did."

"And you still waited to hop on his long board?"

"Tara!"

"What?" she asks with a shrug. "I haven't even seen the guy and I'd hop into bed with him based on what you told me."

"Well…" I trail off nervously. "I haven't. I was going to-erm- well, I mean I will. Probably. Eventually."

"Oh no you don't!" she says, pouncing on my slip up. "You were going to? When? What happened?"

I reluctantly tell her about the night at his house, of the dinner and the decision I had made before I listened to Bill's message.

"I am going to kill your brother!" Tara says, standing up and pacing. "Better yet, I'll call Eric and tell him and _he'll _kill your brother. If he knew-"

"He doesn't," I interject.

"Yeah, well, if he did, I don't think he'd have the warm fuzzies towards Jason. Not if he thought you'd be naked and in his bed otherwise."

"He doesn't know," I repeat. "He won't know."

"I reckon he had an inkling," she insists.

"It doesn't matter, Tara. I'm here. He's there. He –" My phone starts to ring, interrupting me. I look down at the caller ID and blush.

"That's him!" Tara says excitedly. When I don't reply, she continues. "It is, isn't it?"

I nod.

"Answer it!"

"No, I'll call him back later."

"Uh uh," Tara says, reaching to take the phone from my hand. "You answer it now."

"Tara!" I say, grasping at my phone as she pulls it away. "Don't!"

"Fine," she says with a malicious smile. "If you won't, I will. And you don't want to know what I'll say to him."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh wouldn't I?" she asks, pressing the green button to connect the call. She waves the phone in my direction, and I glare at her mutinously before taking it from her.

"Hello?"

"I was wondering if you'd forgotten about me," Eric's voice fills the receiver.

"No," I start, turning away from Tara before I strangle her. "I just got caught up with some family stuff." Tara starts to make kissy noises behind me and I stand up, glaring at her over my shoulder. "Can you hold on?" I ask Eric, receiving an affirmative before covering the handset. "You are so dead, Tara Thornton."

I hear her laughter behind me as I head towards my bedroom and shut the door firmly behind me, twisting the lock. I wouldn't put it past Tara to try and barge in.

"Sorry about it," I say, sitting down on the four-post bed I had slept on so many nights of my life.

"No worries," he replies, then after a moment of silence, he continues. "I kept thinking I'd see you when I was in the lobby today."

"Yeah?" I ask, breathlessly.

"Yeah," he replies. "Is that weird?"

"No," I say, shaking my head at the empty room. What it is, is kind of sweet, not that I will say that. "I guess when you're used to seeing someone in a situation, it's weird when they're not there."

"I guess," he says. "But I don't miss Arlene when she's not there," he adds with a laugh.

"You miss me?" I tease, immediately cursing myself for joking about something he had opened up about.

"Maybe," he says. "Do you miss me?"

"I guess," I reply, with a smile. "Kind of."

"Only kind of?" he asks with a laugh.

"I'm hardly going to admit that I miss you when all you give me is a 'maybe', Eric," I say, sitting back against the pillows.

"Okay, what if I said I definitely missed you today."

"Then I'd say the same."

"Mmm, good," he replies. "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Right now. What are you doing? I want a mental picture. Where are you?"

"I'm at my house," I say, with a laugh. "In Louisiana."

"Don't be a smartass, Sookie. Where in your house? Sitting in the kitchen sink? Reshingling the roof? Sliding down the banister? Taking a shower perhaps?"

"No," I say, my shoulders shaking with laughter. "Nothing quite as fun as that. I'm in my bedroom."

"Oh?" he asks. I can hear his smile through the phone. "Really? Tell me more about that. Are you on your bed?"

"Eric!" I reprimand, squirming down on the bed to get more comfortable. The little bit of wine has relaxed me, and I can admit that talking to Eric doesn't hurt. Somehow, he manages to make me forget how tired I am and how grueling my day has been.

"Are you wearing something see-through and scandalous?" he teases. "I imagine it's very hot there. And sticky."

"Oh yeah," I say sarcastically. "It was so hot that I stripped down to a pair of knee socks and my underwear as soon as I walked in the door."

"I can imagine that," he replies with a dramatic groan. "What else?"

"Eric!" I say, trying to sound reprimanding, but failing when I giggle instead. "You're terrible!"

"I'm imaginative," he insists. "Don't berate me for my creativity."

"I'm not wearing knee socks, Eric," I say.

"Hmmm," he says. "Okay, well as much as I liked that image, just your underwear works too."

"Eric!"

His laughter fills the receiver. "I wish you were here," he says, changing tactic, his voice suddenly somber.

"I…" I start, thrown off by his tone. "I wish I was there too," I finish.

"When are you coming back?" he asks.

"Monday," I reply. I had been eager to leave Bon Temps as quickly as I could. The last thing I want is to get caught here. Again. Not when I have so much waiting for me in Hawaii.

"I'll pick you up."

"My flight lands at three."

"What, no argument?" he teases. "I thought for sure we'd have to negotiate on that. You wouldn't let me drive you to the airport yesterday."

"I was…flustered. Worried. I needed Amelia to talk me off the ledge."

"About your brother?"

"Yeah," I say with a nod. "And it didn't help who I heard the news from."

The phone is silent for a moment before Eric speaks.

"Have you seen him?"

He doesn't have to say who he means.

"No." I can't elaborate beyond this. Eric knows exactly how I feel about seeing Bill again; I'd told him as much after getting the call that had led me here.

"Are you going to?"

"I don't know. Probably."

"It'll be okay, Sookie," he reassures me, just as he had that night. "He's only an ex-boyfriend."

"Who I haven't seen since turning down his marriage proposal," I say with a groan.

"I'm glad you did," he says quietly. "You've moved on. You only have to see him once, and then you can come home."

Home. What a funny word. I wonder when a new place starts becoming your home, and not the place you just happened to move. For all intents, I had always considered Bon Temps home. It is where my family is – or at least what's left of it; it is where I born and raised; it is where I have the most memories. But maybe, just maybe, it wasn't home anymore.

**

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Shameless pimping:**

The talented and hysterical **peppermintyrose** is hosting the Saint Eric contest, designed to point out Eric's flaws (come on, you know he has a few!) and to balance out the rest. Entries are being accepted Jan 1 – Feb 25. It promises to be a fantastic contest, and I hope you'll all enter. For additional details, go to www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net / ~sainteric


	18. Chapter 18: Shut Down

**AN:** Can you believe it's Thursday again? I sure can't! Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing – I love to see so many enjoying this little surf tale!

And thanks to **pfloogs72** for pre-reading and catching all the garbage I leave in my stories!

**

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~~Chapter 18: Shut Down~~**

"I thought I might have to come in there and do the mirror test," Tara says when I open the door to my bedroom. I lazily rub the sleep from my eyes and shuffle towards the living room, flopping down on the couch next to her. I am so not good with jetlag. Combine the time zone change with the stress of traveling for twenty-four hours, and I am completely done.

"What time is it?" I ask, pulling one of Gran's hand-knitted afghans over my legs. No matter how warm it is, I can never pass up the comfort of one of Gran's blankets.

"It's nearly eleven," Tara replies, and sets her laptop down on the coffee table in front of her. I checked on you earlier, but you were snoring up a storm."

"I do not snore!" I insist. At least, I don't think I do, but then again I have never been awake to hear myself. Oh no. What if I do snore? Maybe I should never ever sleep in the same bed with Eric – or any other man, I amend.

"Of course you don't," Tara says with a laugh. "You do, however, drool quite a bit."

"Ugh," I groan, burying my face into my blanket covered knees. "Good thing I sleep alone, eh?"

"I'm sure Eric wouldn't mind a little drool," she says with a shrug. "What's a little more body fluid to two people who are having sex?"

"It's disgusting," I point out.

"It's nature, darling," she says, and stands up. "Do you want some coffee? I can brew another pot if you'd like."

I nod. "Did I ever tell you I love you, Tara?"

"Only all the time, Sook," she replies over her shoulder and heads into the bedroom.

I had fallen asleep not long after hanging up with Eric. I barely managed to get up and wash my face before climbing back into the large bed and was out in under five minutes. My dreams were riddled with images of Hawaii – of the long stretches of empty beaches, and a certain surfer with killer washboard abs. I am a deprived woman, what can I say?

"So," Tara says, coming back into the living room and handing me a cup of coffee, "what's on the schedule for today?"

"I told Crystal I'd help with the set up at Merlotte's," I say, taking a sip of the bitter liquid and groaning in appreciation. "This is fantastic. Chicory?"

"Thanks, I got it last time I was in New Orleans. Thought you could use a taste of the south after all that island junk you've probably been drinking."

"It's funny, the things you miss when you're away," I say, taking another drink.

"Like Eric?" she asks, with a quirk of her eyebrow.

I practically spit my coffee out. "What?"

"I heard you tell him you missed him last night."

"Oh." Shit. I knew she had been listening at the door.

"Apparently you aren't so good at separating sex from relationships after all."

"We're not having sex," I point out.

"So you're in a relationship without sex?" she asks. "What's the point of that?"

"We're not in a relationship. We're friends. I miss my friends when I'm not with them. I miss you when I'm in Hawaii." It makes perfect sense to me.

"Ah yes, but I have never had my tongue in your mouth, or vice versa. That changes things."

"You've seen me naked," I say with a shrug.

"One time. And we were six."

I shrug. "That's still more than Eric."

"So, you're really trying to say that you think about Eric and me in the same light?" she asks.

"No, of course not!" I squirm in my chair. "I'm just saying it's perfectly acceptable to miss someone without it being scandalous. There's lots of people I miss, and it's not because I want to have sex with them." Not entirely.

"But you do want to have sex with Eric?"

"Um…" Shit. "I didn't say that."

"You don't have to. You told me you were going to last night anyway."

"Well. Yes." I have nothing else to say. Nothing at all. Thankfully, we are interrupted by the shrill ring of my mobile phone before I have to continue.

"Oh, is that lover boy?" Tara teases, as I race down the hall to get my phone.

"Shut up, Tara!" I say breathlessly. I get to my phone on the last ring and answer before I can see who it is. "Hello?"

"Sookie?" It's an unfamiliar female voice on the other end.

"Yes?" I ask uncertainly.

"It's Crystal."

"Oh! Hey Crystal. What's up?"

"I thought maybe you could come by the house. My cousin and I are going to head over to Merlotte's in a bit and start to set up. I was wondering if you want to help with the decorations?"

I smile at the mention of Merlotte's. I had meant to stop by yesterday on my way back from Jason's house and say hello to Sam; clearly that hadn't happened.

"Of course!" I reply. "But I just got up though and need to take a shower and get ready. Why don't I meet you over at Merlotte's when I'm done?"

"That'd be great. Oh, and Sookie?"

"Yes?"

"Can I just say how happy I am that you and I had our little talk yesterday? Jason, as much as he acts like a dipshit, was really worried about the two of us getting along."

"Me too," I say with a smile, and open up my suitcase. "Me too."

…

The parking lot of Merlotte's is empty, save for Jason's prized black pickup and Sam's truck, parked alongside his trailer. I never quite understood why Sam chose to live in a trailer on the property; he owns a few rental units, and certainly does well enough to have a real home, but he had always insisted that he had everything he needed right here.

I climb out of my rental car and make my way across the gravel parking lot, as I had done many while I worked here. It's different though. Before I had come into work and thought I was content; now, looking at the outside of the bar and grill, I know better. I know that there is a whole world out there, waiting for me to explore.

"Sookie?" a male voice with a twang calls out from my left.

"Sam?" I ask, a smile crossing my face. I raise my hand to block out the bright sunlight as the figure approaches me. "Is that you?"

"Sure is," he replies. "I heard you were back in Bon Temps."

"I am. I just got in last night."

"And you didn't stop by and see me immediately? What's a man supposed to think when his favorite gal can't be bothered to say hello?"

"I'm hardly your favorite gal anymore, Sam," I reply with a laugh. It had been an ongoing joke at Merlotte's, one that I couldn't remember how it started. His girlfriend, Jannalynn, hadn't thought it was very funny. I doubt she does still.

"Sure you are," he replies. He picks me up in a hug, swinging me around in a friendly greeting. "I missed you, Sookie. These girls don't know what the hell they're doing anymore."

"I don't reckon they do unless something has changed since I left," I reply with a laugh, wrapping my arm around his waist. As attractive as I thought he was, there was something about Sam that always makes me think of him like a brother.

"You here to help Crystal and that cousin of hers set up for tonight's shindig?"

"Sure am," I reply with a nod, smiling when Sam keeps his arms over my shoulder and starts to walk towards the main door. "She seems like a nice girl."

"She's good for Jason," he replies, opening the door and allowing me to step inside. "We all thought she'd never get him to settle down."

"He _is_ Jason," I say, smiling over my shoulder. I turn back and look at the bar in front of me. Nothing has changed in the two months since I left. Life in Bon Temps has gone on without me, and oddly enough, I don't feel bad about that. It's a weird moment, realizing that everything continues whether you're there or not. Yet, at the same time, it's comforting to know that my decision to leave hadn't been devastating to anyone.

"That's right," Sam replies with a nod. "But enough about him. When are you coming back here to save me?"

I shake my head and smile ruefully. "I don't know, Sam. I like it in Hawaii pretty well."

"What does Hawaii have anyway?" he asks with a laugh. "Beautiful beaches, palm tress, sun all the time?"

"To name a few things," I say with a shrug. "Not that I don't miss Louisiana; or, at least, some of the people here."

Sam walks around behind the bar and pours me a glass of lemonade. "We sure do miss you around here though. Well, I do at least."

"I miss you too. Like I said when I left, you're the best boss I ever had."

"You make sure it stays that way, Sookie," Sam replies with a grin. It was still true; sort of. I certainly don't mind my current boss. In fact, I like him in an entirely different way than Sam. "But don't you go worrying about hurrying back here. I might miss you, but we're making do without you just the same. You need to figure out what you need to make you happy and do that. And if it ain't coming back to Bon Temps and settling down, well, just promise me you'll come and visit now and then."

"I promise," I say with a smile.

"Good. Now tell me about your life on that island. You got a fella out there, Sook?"

I feel myself blush and take a sip of the lemonade. "I…I guess I kind of do."

"Good for you," Sam says with a nod. "A girl like you deserves to have someone. I just hope he deserves you more than those last boyfriends of yours."

"I like him," I reply with a wide grin.

"That's all I want to hear," Sam says. "I was just saying to Jannalynn the other night how much I want to see you happy. And," he continues, leaning across the bar and lowering his voice, "I think you did right telling Bill Compton you wouldn't marry him."

"Thanks Sam," I say, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Speaking of Bill. Do you think he'll…"

"Be here tonight?" Sam finishes for me.

I nod.

"I'd bet my left lung on it," he replies with a nod. "He's been in asking about you every night since Jason and Crystal got back from New Orleans."

"I thought he was dating someone?"

"Selah?" I shrug. "Yeah, he's been seen with her. I don't reckon it's too serious, the way he still acts when someone says your name."

"Great," I say with a sigh.

"Don't you worry about it, Sook. We're all gonna be here tonight. You've got nothing to worry about. And heck, the one good thing about you leaving us so quick is that you've left that mess behind you."

…

The party is in full swing by the time I spot Bill Compton. I am already two gin and tonics down, thanks to Crystal's uncle Cal. He had latched onto me the minute he crossed the door, and I haven't been able to shake him yet.

Tiny lights have been strung on the outdoor patio, giving the rather utilitarian patio of Merlotte's a magical feeling. The air is heavy with humidity, but no one seems to notice. We are all here to celebrate Jason and Crystal. The free flowing beer doesn't seem to hurt the cause.

"He's here," Tara whispers in my ear, pointing her head towards the parking lot. I look up and see Bill walking towards the dance floor with a pretty, elegant looking brunette on his arm.

"Is that Selah?" I ask.

"Sure is," Tara replies. "Come on, let's get you another drink." She begins to pull me towards the door back into the bar. I allow her to drag me away from Cal, grateful for any excuse to get away, but dig my heels in before we get inside.

"I don't think it's a good idea to have me drunk when I talk to Bill Compton."

"Afraid you're going to hop into bed with him again?" Tara asks with a roll of her eyes.

"No. Oh God no. I just think it's going to be hard enough as it is. I don't want to be all muddled with alcohol too."

I don't have much time to think over the decision before I hear someone clear their throat behind me. I see Tara's reaction and know it can only be one person. I close my eyes and brace myself before turning around and seeing Bill's familiar pale face. The sideburns I had always disliked seem even more comical tonight; I am not sure if he's grown them out more, or if the memory has dimmed. Either way, I question how I could have ever been attracted to him. Compared to Eric, he is so slight, so pale.

"Hello Sookie," he says, his familiar drawl reverberating in the heavy air.

"Bill!" I say, almost a little too enthusiastically.

"I take it you received my message about your brother."

"I…" I nod, "I did. Thank you."

"I was surprised you didn't return my phone call," he chastises. If he's trying to get on my good side, he's failing miserably.

"Bill."

"What?" he asks, his lower lip jutting out slightly in a pout.

"I didn't think I needed to call you back."

"I would have picked you up at the airport." His tone softens. "We need to talk."

"We don't," I say with a shake of my head. "Nothing's changed Bill."

I see the temper flare in his eyes before he squashes it. He reaches out and runs his hand along my arm.

"Come get a drink with me," he says.

"I don't think that's a good idea." If I can avoid having the talk with him, I certainly will. I'm already uncomfortable as it is.

"Why not?"

"Well for starters, I don't think it's very considerate to Selah."

"You know about Selah?" he asks, a triumphant gleam in his eye. Oh no, he thinks I'm jealous.

"Tara mentioned it."

"Did she?" he asks, taking a step closer to me. "How did that make you feel?"

"Honestly?" I take a step back and breathe a wary sigh. "I'm happy for you. I want you to be happy, Bill. I always did."

"I don't think so," he says, looking deflated. "Or you wouldn't have run off like that without an explanation."

"What I did to you was wrong. I'll admit it. I tried to call and explain…"

"About your need for adventure?" he asks. "Yes, well, now that you have that out of your system, can we talk again? My feelings for you haven't changed."

"It's not out of my system," I say, ignoring the last part.

"Come now. You're back home. You're back where you belong. I know you went and had your adventure, got it out of your system. Now we can move on."

There's that word again. Home. When Eric had said it, it had made me think of the possibilities. When Bill says it, it only makes me think of the past.

"No," I say with a resolute shake of my head. "This wasn't some flight of fancy." Or, at least, it isn't anymore. "I don't want what's here. I don't want to live in Bon Temps the rest of my life."

He frowns, his hand falling back to his side. "But I thought you wanted to get married; to have a family."

"I...maybe I did. Or, at least, thought I did. But I realized that I don't want a husband and a family. Not for awhile at least." I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "I never meant to hurt you."

"You did though." His voice sounds lost, and I open my eyes to see him watching me with sadness.

"I'm sorry." I reach out and ghost my hand over his cheek. "Truly, I am. I am embarrassed at how I handled things. I was…lost. And I didn't know what to do."

"You could have talked to me."

"No," I shake my head. "That's where you're wrong. I couldn't talk to anyone. I needed to get away from everything. I needed to figure myself out. I didn't know what I wanted."

"And now you do?"

I smile and bite my lower lip. " I think I do."

I never would have thought that returning to Bon Temps would lead to some life altering decision, but it had. Reuniting with old and new friends, talking about how things changed – or didn't in some cases – has made me realize exactly what I want. And I finally have the courage to reach out and take what I want with both hands, thanks to the tiny blonde in the white dress on the dance floor, the man behind the bar and even my ex-boyfriend.

Life's funny in that way sometimes.

**

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AN:** So I know… no Eric = lameness. However, this chapter and these realizations/closure were really important for the arc of the story. I hope that you enjoyed the little peak into life in Bon Temps without Sookie. That being said…Good news kids! Sookie's back in Oahu next chapter and it's nothing but Eric! Eric! Eric!


	19. Chapter 19: Check It

**AN:** It's Thursday! And here's another chapter of the Surfer with Eric! I can't say how pleased I was that you all seemed to understand the importance of Sookie making that discovery on her own in the last chapter. As fun as it would have been to have Eric swoop in and save the day, that wouldn't do our girl any good.

Thanks to everyone for continuing to read and review. I'd like to say that I'll stop being lazy at some point and respond to reviews, but that's apparently not happening.

Big thanks to **pfloogs72** for pre-reading and cutting the garbage I put out there sometimes!

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~~Chapter 19: Check It~~**

I feel like I am in a John Hughes movie. In fact, I am totally hearing the lilting sounds of the Thompson Twins play in my head with every step I take.

I don't know what I expected when I landed in Honolulu, but the sight of Eric Northman leaning against his cherry red Ferrari in the bright sunlight has me catching my breath.

I am so Samantha Baker right now, sans the red hair, bridesmaid dress and freckles naturally. If only Eric would mouth "yeah you", my life would be complete.

He doesn't. He does something even better. As soon as he spots me amongst the tourists, he pushes off of his car and is in front of me in ten of his long strides. Without a word, he wraps his arms around me and his lips are on mine. The suitcase I'd been pulling behind me drops to the ground when his hand skirts down my spine and pulls me closer.

"I missed you," he mumbles against my lips before pulling away. He bends down and picks up my forgotten article of luggage. "You ready?" he asks.

I nod, feeling a bit frozen in place. It hasn't been that long since I last saw him; hasn't been that long since he'd had me in a much more compromising position, but I have somehow forgotten just how good it is.

He tucks me into the passenger seat, stowing my suitcase securely before climbing in himself.

"How was your flight?" he asks as he starts the car. The engine roars to life, turning into a gentle purr as he pulls away from the curb.

"It was…fine, I guess," I say. There really isn't a way a flight that long could be anything better than fine. At least there wasn't a screaming baby on board like there had been on my way to Bon Temps. "Long. Boring."

"I'm sure I could have found a way to keep you entertained." He smirks and turns towards the airport exit.

"I'm sure you could have," I mumble under my breath. It's not fair that he looks as good as he does. I know exactly what I look like. That stop in the bathroom on my way to baggage claim hadn't done much to help the fact that I'd been on a plane and in airports for eighteen hours. I wonder how celebrities always look so good after transatlantic flights while I look like death warmed over, or a cast member from the Jersey Shore at best.

"What's that?"

"I said that I don't know that they allow that kind of behavior on planes," I respond with a smirk.

"Depends on the plane," he replies with a leer.

"You're terrible," I say with a giggle, and slump down in my seat.

"I haven't had many complaints before," he shrugs. "Are you hungry? Do you want to stop somewhere in Waikiki and grab a bite to eat?"

"I don't know that I'm too presentable, Eric," I wave a hand over my jeans and t-shirt resplendent with travel grime. "I feel like I've been traveling for a few years and I'm sure I look it."

"You look great."

"You're such a good liar, Eric," I reply with a laugh.

"I think you're beautiful," he says. "But if you'd rather head straight home, I'm sure I could whip something up at my house."

"I suppose I could eat." While the thought of being alone with Eric at his house does have its appeal, I don't have the energy to do much more than lift a fork, and God knows I'd be tempted to try and do more.

"I thought you might say that," he replies. He reaches out and places a hand on my knee, causing me to jump in my seat. "I know just the place."

Ten minutes later and Eric takes my hand to help me out of the car in the tiny parking lot he'd pulled into, intertwining his fingers in mine before lifting our joined hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss on my fingertips. Everything he has done today is so sweet that I don't know how to react; this isn't the Eric that I left. While he wasn't shy on the innuendo front, there was something else there now. Maybe the time apart had given Eric time to think about what this was as well.

"What are you smiling about?" he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I shake my head, not wanting to say anything to spoil the mood. "I'm just happy to be back."

"I can second that," he replies, leaning down and brushing a quick kiss across my temple. "I didn't realize how much I'd miss you."

"I was only gone for four days," I reply with a laugh.

"True. But you do realize what one of those four days was, right?"

I shake my head.

"The end to your two month dating moratorium."

"Oh." Of course he would remember. "But we had already gone out on that date-"

"Yes," he interrupts. "Let's just say I was planning something different for that night. Something," his voice lowers, "that didn't involve you hopping on a plane so that you could sleep in a bed halfway around the world."

An involuntary shiver runs down my spine at his words. The importance of the day of my flight out to Bon Temps hadn't escaped me; if anything, it had been one more needle in my side on top of Jason's silence and Bill's phone call. And, if I'm being honest, the thought of spending the day in bed with Eric had taken up a good hour or two of my flight out, but I hadn't allowed myself to think about it since then. Until now apparently.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, unable to come up with anything clever in response.

"Yes," he responds with a firm nod. "But don't worry, I take rain checks."

He directs me into the doorway of a tiny building. The restaurant is small and busy, filled with a mixture of tourists and locals alike. By some stroke of good luck, we are shown to a table right away where Eric proceeds to order for both of us.

"That's a bit presumptuous, don't you think?" I ask with a smirk, handing the waitress my menu.

"I know what's good here," he replies with a shrug when the waitress leaves the table. "And I know your tastes by now. I know exactly what brings you pleasure."

"Is that so?"

"That's so," he replies with a crooked grin. He leans across the table and lowers his voice. "In fact, I would even go as far as saying I pride myself on pleasuring you."

My shoulders shake with laughter. "And here I thought you'd given up that playboy talk around me."

"Never, Sookie."

"Old dog, new tricks, et cetera," I say with a dismissive wave of my hand.

He reaches out and places his hand on the table over mine, rubbing my palm with the pad of his thumb. "I know lots of tricks Sookie. I'd be happy to show you any time you'd like."

"I'm…um…maybe later?" I squeak.

"Definitely later. Now, tell me about your trip. How was the wedding reception? You didn't have much to say about it on the phone."

"It was…nice." It had been. Well, except the part about running into Bill Compton, but even that hadn't been as bad as I had expected it to be. Even when he'd dragged Selah out onto the dance floor and had attempted to use her to make me jealous hadn't been that bad. Awkward? Yes. But not bad. It had almost made me feel sorry for her, until she'd "accidentally" spilled her beer on my shoes. That had been the end of that.

"And Bill?"

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I really don't want to talk about Bill to Eric. I don't really want to talk to anyone about Bill.

"It was what it was. Like I told you on the phone, he wrote off my move to Hawaii as a whim, asked me when I was coming back to rekindle whatever it was we had." Eric's hand tightens on mine and I can't help but smile at his immediate reflex. "It just reinforced my decision to leave in the first place."

"I'm glad you did."

"I am too. I may not have handled it correctly, but it was what I needed to do at the time. And if I hadn't done that at that exact moment, God knows I would have chickened out and I'd still be stuck in the same relationship, well on my way to having little Compton babies."

Eric makes a noise akin to a growl, which makes me smile. "Believe me, little Compton babies are the last thing I want."

"Good to hear it," Eric responds.

"But you know what? I'm glad I went back when I did." I smile at Eric's frown. "Okay, maybe that exact moment wasn't exactly fortuitous, but going back was a good thing."

"How so?"

"It was nice to catch up with old friends. I haven't been outside of Bon Temps really since I lived in Dallas," I say with a shrug. "When you're used to being there, it's weird when you leave I guess. But everything was the same."

"In what way?"

"I don't know how to describe it. I guess I expected there to be a gaping hole where I had been, but there wasn't. In a way it made me feel unneeded-"

"You're not," Eric interjects.

I shake my head. "I know I'm not. Maybe that's not the right word, but I suppose at first I was struck by the fact that they didn't seem to miss me at all. But then I realized that life really does go on. It's not that they don't want me there – heck, Sam offered me my old job back-"

"You said 'no', right?"

"Of course I said no," I reply with a laugh. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that…well, I spent a lot of time here worrying about how my friends were able to carry on without me; how Tara was holding up being one of the only sane people left in Bon Temps; how Jason managed to tie his own shoes without assistance. But going there, seeing them all again, it made me see that they can figure it out themselves." I look down at our joined hands and smile. "I know this sounds like some ridiculous Oprah feelings session, and I don't mean it to be. I'm just…well, trying to articulate that feeling when you realize that the only person you're responsible for is yourself."

He nods solemnly.

"And," I continue. "The whole point of this trip – well, this move really I guess – was to make myself something else, or at least to find the real me. And going back made me see that I have changed. I'm not the same person that you met on the beach two months ago."

"No," he replies with a grin. "That girl went running when I looked at her. I'm certain that girl would've fainted if I'd tried to kiss her."

"I'm fairly certain you're right about that," I laugh.

"And now?"

"Now?" I ask with a smile. "Now, I would say I'd faint if you didn't try to kiss me. Or, at least pretend to faint and hope for some mouth to mouth."

"My, my, Sookie Stackhouse," Eric teases. "I do believe you've created a monster."

"But a loveable monster at that," I shrug and smile at the waitress as she delivers our food.

…

The food, while delicious, only serves to remind me of how exhausted I am. By the time Eric pays the bill and we walk to the car, I am barely able to keep my eyes open.

"Jetlagged?" Eric asks with a chuckle as he helps me into the passenger seat.

I nod and try to say thank you, which comes out as nothing more than a grunt. Yes, I am feeling incredibly sexy right about now. It's a wonder Eric likes me.

"Just shut your eyes and rest. I'll get you home."

I try to stay awake as long as I can, but we are barely on the highway before I fall asleep. The exhaustion is so bone deep that even the wind whipping around me in the convertible doesn't disturb my rest. I don't wake up until I feel someone pick me up, and even then it takes a concerted effort to peel my eyes open.

The first thing I see is the side of a man's head, with hair the same color as mine.

"Eric?" I ask, stifling a yawn. "Where are we?"

"At your house," he replies.

"Did I sleep the entire way?" I look around and see Amelia's car parked next to Eric's.

"I didn't know you snored," Eric teases, hugging me tightly against his body as he walks to the front door.

"I do not snore!"

I feel the laughter rumble in his chest. "No, you don't. But you're awfully cute when you're sleeping."

I try to squirm out of his arms when he reaches the door. I have just enough energy to walk myself into the house and collapse on my bed. That's bound to be better than having Amelia see Eric carrying me across the living room.

"No way, Stackhouse," he replies, holding me tighter. "You can barely keep your eyes open. Let me take you to bed."

"Not exactly how I imagined it," I reply, stifling a yawn.

"You've imagined me taking you to bed?" he asks.

I nod, burying my face in the crook of his neck. "A few times."

"You'll have to tell me about that sometime."

"Maybe after you give me surfing lessons."

"How about tomorrow?" he replies. "Then we can talk about me taking you to bed again."

I shake my head with a smile he can't see. "Why the rush, Northman?"

"No reason," he responds, reaching down to ring the doorbell.

"Eric!" I squeal when I realize that he's now beckoned Amelia to us. "What are you doing?"

"We already talked about this. I'm taking you to bed."

"I have a key."

"It's easier to have Amelia answer the door." And it might have been; only it wasn't Amelia that opened the door. It was Pam.

"My, my Eric," she says drolly, taking in the scene before her. "You seem to have brought me a present."

"Fat chance, Pam," he replies, pushing past her in the doorway.

"Hello Sookie," she says with a smirk.

"Pam," I reply with as much dignity as the situation allows.

"I'd say I'm as excited to have you back as Eric is, but I don't think that's the case," she says, her eyes darting down to an area on Eric's body that I'd rather not think about at the moment.

"Pam!" Eric barks.

"What?" she asks with a shrug. "I'm just pointing out the obvious."

Eric shakes his head and walks through the living room, down the long hallway that leads to my bedroom.

"You know where my bedroom is?"

"I know lots of things," he responds with a smirk, and pushes the door open. The large bed looks so soft and inviting that I don't think anything of the sound of the door closing behind us.

"Mmmm," I mumble, burying my face into the pillow when he sets me down.

"That good, eh?" Eric asks. I feel the bed shift under his weight as he sits down next to me. He reaches out and brushes my hair off my face with a smile when I nod.

"Mind if I test it out?" Before I can respond, he stretches out next to me, pulling my body against his, our foreheads touching one another's. "I could get used to this," he says after a moment of silence.

"The bed?" I ask.

"That too," he replies, moving his head to brush his lips against mine. The gentle kiss turns heated quickly; even in my tired state, I have enough energy to respond to his lips and touch.

He pulls me tightly against him, my body pliant as it molds to his. He is in complete control of this kiss – not that I'm complaining. No, as far as I'm concerned, he can keep on doing whatever he wants as long as it feels this good.

He gently pushes me onto my back, resting his body above mine as he deepens the kiss. His breath is heavy and uneven as his lips move to my neck, and my hands take on a life of their own as they rake across his broad shoulders and back.

His hands move down the length of my body before snaking their way under the hem of my shirt. The feel of his fingertips on the sensitive skin of my stomach causes me to gasp, and that causes Eric to chuckle seductively in my ear.

"Like that?" he asks.

I nod, unable to form words.

"Good," he replies. "Then I'm sure you'll like this." His fingers crawl slowly up my stomach until they reach the underwire of my bra. I desperately try to remember if I'm wearing a pretty bra, but that thought is erased when he reaches up and pulls the top of the cup down. He moves to kiss me again as his fingers cover where the lace fabric had been, caressing and toying in a way that drives me absolutely insane.

"Eri-awwwwnh," I say, a yawn interrupting my cry of pleasure. He stills his fingers and looks up at me. "Sorry," I say sheepishly and lift my head up to meet his lips.

He shakes his head and sits up. "You're tired."

"So?" I ask, following him up into a seated position. "That doesn't mean I don't want to…" I trail off, reaching out to grab his hand.

"Not for the first time," he insists. "Believe me, this isn't an easy decision for me to make, but when we do this." He waves his hand back and forth between us. "I want you fully alert."

"I'm awake," I insist, and curse myself when I yawn again.

"No you're not," he replies with a chuckle. He leans forward and brushes his lips against my forehead. "Get some sleep."

"Eric," I whine. My unsatisfied desire is barely edging out the need to sleep, but it's still winning.

"We have plenty of time to get to this," he says and runs the back of his knuckles along my cheek. "Right now you need to sleep. I need you good and rested for tomorrow."

I allow him to push me back against the oversized pillows and pull my shoes off my feet.

"Tomorrow?" I ask, burrowing down beneath the covers he pulls to my chin. I close my eyes and feel myself drifting to sleep, but manage to mumble. "What's tomorrow?"

"Surf lessons," he replies, leaning down to give me one last kiss. "And those other lessons we talked about as well."

**

* * *

AN:** Surf (and other) lessons in the next chapter. The wait is nearly over!


	20. Chapter 20: Totally Stoked

**AN:** That's right; it's Thursday again, which means…another chapter of the Surfer! I hope you all enjoy. Thanks again to everyone who has stuck with this story – I think you'll rather enjoy this chapter.

And thanks to **pfloogs72** for being my meticulous pre-reader. She always catches when I like to repeat repeat (har har).

**

* * *

~~Chapter 20: Totally Stoked~~**

The sun isn't on the horizon yet when the ringing of my phone awakes me. I answer without even looking at the caller ID, hoping that whoever is on the other end has a darned good reason to wake me up.

"Hello," I mumble, burying my head further into my pillow.

"Hey Sookie."

It's Eric. My eyes fly open and I look at the clock on my bedside table.

"What are you doing calling me at five am?" I ask, propping myself on my elbows and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Better yet. What are you even doing awake at five am?"

His laughter fills the receiver. "I'm having a crazy love affair with the ocean. She's a demanding mistress that likes me to be there early." When I don't say anything, he continues. "The waves are perfect for your lesson right about now."

"My what?"

"Your lesson. You said you wanted to learn how to surf yesterday."

"I was half asleep," I reply.

"You weren't asleep when I had my hand under your shirt," he replies and I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Um…" What can I possibly say to that? I choose to say nothing and sit up fully to look out the window. "It's still dark outside."

"Not entirely," he points out. "If you hurry and get ready you can be here just as the sun is coming up."

"I'm not even out of bed. I'm not dressed."

"Really?" he asks. "Tell me more about that."

"Eric," I groan.

"Unless you want me to come over there and join you again – which, I might add sounds like a good idea to me - I'd suggest you get your butt over here, Sookie Stackhouse."

I'm not going to lie. Having Eric offer to come join me in bed again is appealing. Sort of. At least if I don't think about what I must look like.

"Okay, okay," I say. "Give me thirty minutes."

"Twenty."

"Eric, it takes me ten minutes to drive there. I just woke up. I have to brush my teeth. Shower. The whole shebang."

"Then I'd suggest you hurry up. Twenty minutes Stackhouse. If you're not here, I'm coming there." And with that, he hangs up.

I scramble out of bed, knowing that he's not the type to kid around about this.

Shit.

I manage to make it in and out of the shower in three minutes flat. I thank the gods that I'd woken up last night long enough to take and wash the airport stink off of me so that I at least don't have to wash my hair. And since we're going to the beach and I will more than likely end up face planting in the water, I don't see much point in putting on makeup.

With a quick dig through my suitcase, I find the bikini that has the most coverage. Of course I don't have a regular bathing suit since I had never planned on doing something as ridiculous as surfing. I quietly tiptoe into Amelia's bathroom, trying not to disturb her in the event that she has Pam over – which she probably does. I rifle through her swim drawer and find the tiny surf shirt she'd purchased last month and never worn. It may be a few sizes too small, but it would beat having my boobs flop out for the world to see.

The drive to Eric's goes quicker than usual due to the low traffic on the road and I quietly knock on his door with two minutes to spare.

He looks perfect when he answers the door – of course.

"I thought for sure I'd have to come get you," he says, opening the door with a smirk.

"I'm just full of surprises, Northman," I say, pushing past him into the house and tossing my beach bag on the floor.

"I was kind of hoping you'd take me up on that offer," he replies.

"And miss the opportunity to drown myself in the Pacific Ocean? Fat chance."

"You look beautiful," he says, wrapping his arms around me from behind and nuzzling his nose into the messy bun at the nape of my neck. "And you even smell good."

"I can't believe I'm about to do this," I say, closing my eyes and leaning against him.

"You're the one who said you wanted to learn."

"It was a joke."

"Surfing is _never_ a joke," he deadpans. "Besides, you said you'd tell me about how you've thought of me in your bed after surf lessons. And I do so want to hear about that."

Me too, buddy. Better yet, I wanted to make those thoughts into a reality.

"I see how it is," I tease. "But I guess there is no time like the present to do something slightly adventurous, right?"

"We could always skip the surf lessons and go test out those ideas of yours," he suggests, placing hot kisses along the column of my exposed neck.

"No way, buster," I reply, turning around to face him with a smile. "You promised surf lessons, and that's what I want."

"Pity," he replies, and leans down to place a chaste kiss on my forehead before letting me go. "But if this is what you want, I'd suggest we get out of here."

"Where are we going?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. "I thought you wanted me to come here so we could surf here."

"I'm not teaching you how to surf on the pipeline, Sookie," he replies with a chuckle, and reaches down to grab my bag. "The cove at the hotel is perfect for beginners. And that way we can use one of the hotel's boards so you don't ruin Pam's."

"Who says I'm going to ruin anything?" I ask, putting my hands on my hips.

"I do," he replies, and claps my hand in his. "First time surfers always bang up the boards. It goes with the territory." When I don't say anything, he continues. "Better the board than you though, right?"

"I guess."

"Come on," he says, pulling me behind him. "We need to get started if we want to be done by the time the crowds hit the beach."

…

Just as he said, there is absolutely no one at the beach. I had never seen the private area empty in the two months that I'd worked here, but then again, I'd never been here quite this early before.

Eric leaves me standing by the water with our belongings and unlocks the storage shed that holds all of the hotel's beach gear. The water is fairly calm, with gentle waves rolling in close. I see larger waves crashing against the reef in the distance, and silently thank Eric for bringing me here instead of tossing me out with the big fish.

"You ready?" he asks from behind me. I turn to see him walking towards me, a surf board under each arm.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I say, squeezing my eyes tight before squaring my shoulders. I can do this. I love the beach, and I've always had fairly good balance. How hard can it be, right?

"I might suggest you take your dress off," he replies, setting the boards down. "I'd be happy to help you with that if you'd like."

"I'm sure you're very good at removing women's clothes," I say with a laugh. "But I think I've got it this time."

He shrugs, and pulls his shirt off.

"Normally I'd suggest putting a wetsuit on, but since we're not going out past the bay I think we'll be good," he says, then watches as I pull my dress over my head and pull Amelia's surf shirt over my head. The hem gets stuck as I try to pull it over my chest. "Here," he says, reaching out and grabbing the edge of the shirt. "Let me." His fingers brush against the sides of my breasts as he pulls the shirt down, his eyes never leaving mine. If it weren't for the shortness I hear in his breath, I would have thought he was completely unaffected.

"Thank you," I say, feeling breathless at his touch.

"My pleasure." His eyes are hooded and his hands rest against the bare patch of skin between the bottom of the shirt and the top of my bikini bottoms. His fingers brush underneath the fabric of the shirt, sending warmth through my body. I look down at his hands, attempting to regulate my increased heartbeat before looking back up to meet his gaze.

"Should we…?" I start.

He shakes his head. "In a minute." His face moves towards mine, seemingly slowly, until his lips are on mine. It isn't a very long kiss, though it's thorough enough to leave me feeling a bit weak in the knees by the time he pulls away. "Sorry," he says, taking a step back. "I couldn't resist."

I shake my head, unable to say anything.

"Now we can start," he says with a nod. He walks over to the boards and rearranges them so they are next to each other, showing me how to stand up and telling me all sorts of tips and jargon that go in one ear and out the other. He says something about paddling, and the sweet spot of the board, but I barely register. How am I supposed to concentrate after a kiss like that?

"Here," Eric says, taking my hand and guiding me onto the long surfboard sitting atop the white sand. "Lay down on your stomach."

I look over my shoulder skeptically before doing exactly what he tells me to do. He is a surf instructor after all, and I am the one who had asked him to teach me. I just have to forget that he kissed me and made me think about how he'd felt on top of me. Yes. That's exactly what I'll have to do.

I lay down on my stomach, propping myself up on my elbows as I wait for the next instruction. The surfboard feels surprisingly cold against my bare skin, and I shiver noticeably. It is a fairly warm morning considering it is only 5:30.

"Put your arms down, Sookie," Eric says and kneels down next to me. He reaches out and gently tugs my hands until I lower down. "Now practice paddling."

"I know how to paddle Eric," I say. My face hovers just above the surfboard, and each of my hands are tucked into his.

"I'm sure you do. But do it anyway." He pulls my hands until I do a paddling motion, which he qualifies as 'good'.

"When you're ready to stand up, your hands should be on the board beneath your shoulders and push yourself into a crouching position."

His large hands direct mine to the right spot on the board. "Just like that," he says, his mouth inches from my ear sending a shiver down my spine. So much for pretending he didn't kiss me. How I am going to make it through the lesson half naked with Eric touching me, I cannot say.

"It's important to keep your back straight when you're on the board," he says. His hands release mine, and he traces his fingers down the length of my spine, lingering on my bare patches of skin. There is no chance that this is unintentional, but I'd be kidding myself if I say I don't enjoy every second of it. "But make sure you arch when you're ready to stand."

My breath hitches when his hands smooth down over my bikini bottoms to the bottom of my legs and then back up, this feeling somehow more intimate than even last night.

"Is this part of your normal lesson?" I ask, looking over my shoulder with a smirk.

He stops, his hands on the back of my thighs and looks at me with a roguish smile. "It's a part of a certain type of lesson we discussed," he replies, then removes his hands and leans back on his heels. "But I'm more interested in teaching you that later."

The crashing waves have nothing on the beating of my heart. My breath comes out in a shuddered gasps as I try to regain focus. Eric looks as cool as a cucumber as he looks down at me.

"Now try to stand up," he instructs. I do as he showed me earlier – or as best as I can remember him showing me. After a few tries he determines that I am ready to go out into the water.

He picks up the board and begins walking towards the water; I trail behind him cautiously.

"Don't you think I should practice more?" I ask, stopping when the water splashes over my feet. "I mean, I only stood up on the board a few times. I don't know that I'm ready to –"

Eric stops and turns around, the long board dangling effortlessly at his side. A smile covers his face and he reaches out to take my hand in his.

"You're going to be fine, Sookie," he says, tugging me further into the water. "I promise," he adds, brushing his lips over mine when I am in front of him. "And I'll be right here if you need me."

I nervously look out at the water rolling in and then back at Eric, giving him the most courageous smile I can muster. As much as I want to do this, I can't deny the fear coursing through my veins.

"Promise?"

"Do you really think I'd let anything happen to you?" He reaches up to cup my cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb along my cheek.

"No," I say. "I guess not."

He gently sets the board down in the water and helps me climb on. I fall more times in the thirty minutes we're in the water than I'd like to admit, but he is there to help me back on every time with words of encouragement. And just when I start to feel the wear on my body, I finally manage to stand up and ride a small wave back to shore. The feeling of triumph, of mastering the water below me, is exhilarating. I wait for Eric to make his way onto the shore and practically attack him in my excitement.

"That was amazing!" I squeal, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I didn't think I could…" I trail off, shaking my head. "Thank you!" I say, planting a kiss on his lips. "I never could have done it without you."

I begin to disentangle my arms from him only to have him pull me tightly against his body. The wet fabric covering my stomach feels stiflingly oppressive between us. I hear, more than feel, myself groan against his lips as he lifts me off my feet. I vaguely feel something tug at my ankle, but ignore the sensation when his tongue sweeps into my open mouth.

I whimper as his lips break free from mine and move across my cheek to nibble on my earlobe. I make a decision in that moment. It is a decision that is inevitable anyway, but the exhilaration of conquering one of my fears makes the choice that much easier. I am no longer Sookie Stackhouse who is afraid of living, and the man who is holding me has done nothing but help me see that.

"Eric?"

"Yes Sookie?" he asks, his breath sending shivers down my spine.

"We need to stop," I say.

"No, we don't," he replies, pulling me closer than I thought possible.

"Eric," I repeat.

"What?" he asks.

"While I agree that we don't need to stop entirely, I really must insist that we don't continue here," I say, inclining my head towards the large building behind us.

"What?"

"Not here," I repeat.

"Sookie?" he asks tentatively.

"Yes?"

"Just so we're clear…when you say 'not here' you mean…?"

"I mean not here," I shrug and take a step back. "In fact, I think it's probably in both of our best interests to get back in that little car of yours and go back to your place."

Realization visibly crosses his face, and I can't help but giggle as he reaches down and picks up the surfboard, dashing ahead of me on his way back to the shack. If it weren't for the ankle strap attached to my body, I think he would have left me behind in his haste to put the darn thing away.

"Eric!" I squeal, tripping over the cord, yet somehow managing to stay upright as I hurry after him.

He looks back and sees the problem, shaking his head quickly before reaching down and unlatching the strap himself. "Grab your things," he commands. "I'll be right back."

I do not bother to throw the dress over my wet suit, instead wrapping the lone towel around the lower half of my body. Eric is back in a flash, tugging the towel from me and quickly wiping the drops of water off his chest.

"You aren't kidding, right?" he asks, giving me one last chance to renege. "You don't want to wait…?"

"No," I say with a smirk. "I think we've waited long enough."

That is apparently all the assurance he needs. He grabs my hand and pulls me behind him, practically throwing me into the open top of his car. We are back at his house in record time, thanks in part to the many stop signs he chooses to ignore.

We race towards the door, both eager to pick up where we left off, and his lips are on mine the minute he pushes the front door open. The cherry lip balm I'd smeared on while he was driving mingles with the saltwater taste of his lips. We stumble blindly through the foyer of the house, crashing into the walls on our journey towards his bedroom.

His fingers tug at the tight hem of the surf shirt, the clingy material no match for Eric when he is on a mission. It falls into a wet heap in the hallway, leaving nothing but the wet triangles of my bikini and his board shorts between us. He pushes me up against the wall, using it as leverage as he explores my skin with his lips and hands. I stop him when he reaches behind my neck to tug at the strings of my bikini, shaking my head.

"What?" he asks, his hot breath on my neck.

"Bedroom," I insist.

"There's no one here," he replies, tugging the string loose with one flick of his wrist.

"Pam?" I ask, pressing myself against him so as not to expose myself.

"She's at Amelia's." He reaches down and loosens the other tie, the material falling to the ground between our feet. "Didn't you see her when you left?"

"No. Still…" I whimper.

"You are a bit of a prude aren't?" he asks. When I nod, he chuckles, and wraps his arms tightly about me. "I like that about you."

He picks me up and carries me the remainder of the way to his bedroom. The door clicks shut behind us, but he does not set me down. Instead, he moves swiftly past the bed and into the en suite bathroom, stepping into the oversized shower before finally putting me back on my feet.

"Shower?" I ask, rendered slightly slow by the feel of his bare chest against my breasts.

"Salt water wrecks havoc on your skin," he says, reaching over me and turning on a blast of hot water. "And your skin is much too nice to do anything bad to it."

He leans down and captures my lips with his again, and I feel like I'm going to melt into the drain with the water around us.

"Now," he mumbles against my lips, "now I want to see."

He takes a step back, breaking the contact between our bodies, and looks down at my naked breasts with an appreciative smile.

"Did I ever tell you I was a breast man?" he asks, reaching out and taking them in his hands.

"You never mentioned that," I reply, unable to stifle the groan that escapes my lips at the sensation of his touch.

"I am," he replies with a solemn nod. "And you, Sookie, have everything I could possibly want."

His hands seem to be everywhere, pulling me closer and kneading my flesh as his lips crash into mine. I gasp when he pushes me against the cool tile of the shower wall and presses himself against me. The water pouring over our heads pulls at the fabric of his board shorts, and I assist the water at tugging them down his hips until they fall into a puddle on the floor. It is only seconds later when my bikini bottoms join them and there is nothing left between us.

Without a word, he turns the water off and guides me out of the shower. My knees practically give out when he stops me and begins to dry my body off with a fluffy towel.

"Eric," I whimper when he brushes the towel across my abdomen, his fingers dancing along the skin the towel just dried. "Now," I demand.

He doesn't need any more encouragement. I am off my feet, carried across the short expanse of the floor from the bathroom to his oversized bed. He follows me down onto the mattress, never breaking our skin-to-skin contact.

"I've wanted this for so long," he mumbles, entwining his legs with mine. "So long," he repeats, dipping his head down to press an open mouth kiss at the juncture of my neck and shoulder.

His lips continue their trail down my chest, his fingers dancing along the expanse of my skin, inching closer to the spot that I want them more than anything else. And I feel like jumping out of my skin when his fingers reach their destination.

Our movements are hurried; fast-paced. We have delayed this moment far too long for it to be anything but frenzied. I arch against him, desperately seeking the release I can feel coming towards me, and cry out his name when he gives it to me.

"I need you," I whimper, pulling him closer.

"You're a demanding little thing aren't you?" he asks with a chuckle as he moves over me and gives me exactly what I asked for and more.

**

* * *

AN:** Now that I've got your attention! I want to remind everyone of all the great contests going on in the SVM fandom – there's something for everyone out there.

My particular favorite (I'm not biased AT ALL) is the Saint Eric fic, where you can point out all of Eric's wonderful qualities and demonize the heck out of Sookie. We all know Sookie's not that important anyway, right? Details located on the ~SaintEric fanfiction page. I hope you all enter!


	21. Chapter 21: Cowabunga

**~~Chapter 21: Cowabunga~~**

"My, my Miz Stackhouse, you look positively radiant," Lafayette's familiar voice calls from across the lobby. I look up from the stack of reservations I'd been going through to see him sauntering towards me in all his neon glory.

"Hey Laf," I say, setting the paperwork aside. I haven't seen him – or anyone really – since returning from Bon Temps. Between my late flight and my…well… lessons yesterday, there hasn't been much of a chance. And despite having two other people who do my exact same job, there was still a pile of paperwork waiting for me when I arrived at work this morning.

"I'd say you're glowing. Wouldn't you agree?" He looks over at Claudine for concurrence.

"Lit up like a Christmas tree," Claudine chimes in.

"I'm, um, just really excited to be back." My glow has nothing to do with the fact that I'd spent the entire day yesterday in Eric's bed. Absolutely not.

"I think that Sookie here thinks we was born yesterday," Lafayette says to Claudine.

"I would have to agree," Claudine replies. "The only thing that puts that kind of glow on a girl's face is a good fuck."

"Claudine!" I shriek, looking around the lobby to ensure that no one heard her.

"What?" she asks, all wide-eyed innocence.

"Sookie here don't want to admit she got laid."

I shake my head and let out an exasperated sigh. I am so not ready to have this conversation with anyone. There are some things that aren't meant to be shared with everyone, and I happen to think that my sex life is one of those.

I turn back and start to go through the details for an upcoming conference again.

"Oh," Lafayette hops up next to me on the concierge desk. "She's gonna ignore us. That's a sure sign of some good sexing."

I shut my eyes, willing them to go away. It doesn't work.

"I do so hope it was good," Claudine adds. "Was it good, Sookie? I can't imagine that it wouldn't be with the likes of Eric Northman."

"Not with the way that boy moves on that surfboard of his," Lafayette interjects. "He is welcome to ride the waves in my bed anytime he'd like."

"You two are terrible!"

"I thought we were loveable," Claudine says with a shrug.

"Hardly," I mumble.

"Do you deny that you got down and dirty with one Mr. Eric Northman?" Lafayette asks.

"None of your beeswax." Yes, I went there. I have reverted to being a six year old.

"So you's saying I didn't see you wrapped all up around Eric yesterday morning on the beach?" I groan. "There must be some other Swedish surfer God on the premises," he shrugs. "And he must have a little blonde girlfriend who likes public sex."

"We did not have sex in public!" I whisper harshly. That's the last rumor I want spreading around here. I can only imagine where Arlene would run with that.

"But you did have sex, right?" Claudine asks.

The blush rising up my chest hardly works in my favor for denial.

"I…uh…"

"You did!" she shrieks. "I knew it! What did I say? Guaranteed panty dropper."

"It wasn't like that!" I insist, positive that I'm going to melt at any minute now.

"Wasn't like what?" Laf asks, leaning back. "Wasn't a panty dropping experience?"

Technically it wasn't, as I had been wearing a bikini, but I wasn't about to split hairs over that.

"You make it sound like she's a slut, Laf," Claudine chastises. "And we all know that Sookie here is about the farthest thing from."

Laf shrugs and playfully slaps at his legs. "All us girls have got a little bit of hookah in us. You can't really blame the girl."

"Guys! I'm right here." I wave my hand, as if to announce my presence.

"Of course you is," Laf adds with a smile. "Now, tell us all about it, and don't you go skimping on any details. That blond surfer ain't never got down and dirty with the staff before."

I hadn't known that. Interesting, but something I am definitely not going to think about right now.

"Mind your own business, Lafayette. I'm not saying a stinking word about anything."

"Prude."

"He's right," Claudine interjects. "You are being a total spoilsport about this. If you wanted to know how, when and which way Alcide and I do things, I'd be the first to tell you."

"That's…nice?" I say, and start to pick at my fingernails. It's a nasty habit, but one I'm not going to kick anytime soon if they keep up with the twenty questions.

"My point," she continues, "is that we're open around here. _Very_ open."

"I…I'm…" Saved by the phone! It rings once before I pick it up.

"Sookie?" Amelia's says on the other end. "Can you come in here?"

"Sure," I reply, looking at the phone suspiciously before hanging up. I smile and shrug at my inquisitors. "Looks like I've got to go."

"Oh, is lover boy calling you?"

I shake my head and groan. "No. Work matters," I turn around to head towards the suite of offices behind the reception desk.

"This ain't over sweet thang," Laf calls as I scurry towards Amelia's doorway, and I know it isn't.

However, I hadn't planned on leaving one set of questions for another.

Amelia is sitting at her desk, her black rimmed "business" glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she checks her email.

"Close the door," she says, without looking up when I enter. I swear she has a sixth sense when it comes to me sometimes. I do as she asks and sit down on the white loveseat and wait for her to finish her email.

"So," she says, turning to face me. A massive smile breaks out across her face as she scans me from head to toe. "Tell me all about it."

"All about what?" I hope my stupid shtick works. It doesn't.

"Sookie Stackhouse," she clucks her tongue and shakes her head, "I have been your best friend for what? Six or seven years now?" I nod. "You really think you can stay out all day and all night and pretend nothing happened?"

I sigh and sink back against the cushions of the loveseat. I had known Amelia would question me eventually about my absence, but I had thought I would at least have until tonight after work.

"I was going to tell you."

"When? Next year?" She stands up and walks around the large desk, seating herself next to me.

"You know how I am about these things, Ames," I say with a shrug, avoiding looking her in the eyes. "I…"

"Got down and dirty with the resident bad boy?" she chuckles. "It's about damn time."

"Amelia!"

"What? I've been telling you for weeks to just get it over with."

"I…"

"How was it?" She is practically bouncing in her seat with excitement.

"I…"

"I'm surprised you can walk today. From what I've heard – and seen, because let's face it, those board shorts do not hide _anything_ – Eric Northman's feet aren't the only big thing on him."

I know I've blushed to the color of a ripe tomato without having to look in the mirror. The size of Eric's…ahem… junk is not a topic of discussion I thought I'd be having. Of course I now know that I was being delusional; I should know by now that Amelia – Queen of sharing her sex life – has no shame.

"Come on!" she demands. "Tell me all about it."

"Amelia," I start, "when have I ever told you anything about that arena of my life?"

"You told me Quinn was good and Bill wasn't."

"Only after I had broken up with them," I point out.

"But it's a new you, right? A new, liberated you. I mean, Old Sookie wouldn't have gone near a specimen like Eric Northman with a ten-foot pole. Oh… ten-foot pole," she laughs, "ouch."

"Amelia!"

"You're no fun," she pouts. "Tell me something; anything!"

"No."

"You did have sex with him though, right?"

"Erm… yes." It's not like she won't figure it out anyway. And while I don't particularly care to share the play-by-play of the night with anyone, it's not like it hurts to admit it. Especially to Amelia, who has been nothing if not entirely engrossed in my possible sexcapades with Eric.

I smile to myself as I recall exactly what those sexcapades had entailed. Eric certainly knows what he's doing in that arena.

"Hallelujah!" she shrieks. "When are you going to do it again?"

"Geez. Nosy McNoserson! It's not like we planned anything."

"Why not?" she asks, sounding practical. "Pam and I always have something planned. Now, usually we don't make it until then. It is really hard to keep my hands off of her perfect brea-"

"Amelia!" I shriek, covering my ears with my hands. I know it happens; I'd be deaf and blind not to. However, I still have no interest in hearing all the details.

"You are such a prude," she chastises. "One of these days you're going to spill; I just know it. There's no way you can sex a Northman and keep your mouth shut. Please tell me that you are seeing him again after work?"

I shrug.

"You are," she nods. "Good. His place, or ours?"

"How is that any of your business?"

"I live with you silly. Besides, unless you want to have a competition for which Northman can make us scream louder, I was thinking I'd steer Pam in the other direction. She's terribly competitive about most everything; I can only imagine what she'd do in that situation."

"Oh." She has a point. I can just picture how that little scene would play out – Amelia grunting and screaming, and me burrowed in a corner trying to cover my ears. Yes, best to stay away from Pam when it comes to these types of things. I'd been fortunate yesterday and was leaving by the time Pam was pulling into the driveway. Granted, I'd planned on leaving a lot earlier, but Eric has ways of persuading me to stay that aren't polite to mention.

"Exactly. So… where's it gonna be?"

"He said he'd come over after he got off," I bite my lower lip. "I don't know what he has planned after that though."

"So our house?"

"I don't know. I suppose so."

"Make it our house," Amelia says.

"He might be planning to take me back to his place."

"I'm sure you can come up with a way of convincing him to stay put. Just wear something skimpy."

…

The doorbell rings at exactly 5:15. I have been home for a little over an hour, just enough time to take a quick shower and wash the grime from the workday off of me. I don't fool myself into thinking that tonight won't end with a repeat of last night, and I want to smell as nice as possible.

Eric looks ridiculously good standing on the other side of the door, his aviator sunglasses blocking his eyes as I look up at him, but they do nothing to hide the lopsided smile he gives me when I open the door.

"Hello lover," he says, dipping his head down to brush his lips across mine. His hands quickly find the curve of my waist, pulling me towards him so he can deepen the kiss. I sink into the taste of his mouth, almost instantaneously forgetting that we are standing in public view.

"Now that," he says, brushing his lips against mine again, "is something I could get used to coming home to every night."

He jovially wraps his arm around my shoulders and leads me inside the house, kicking the door shut behind us and directing me towards the living room and the large couch dominating the room.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you today," he says, sitting down and pulling me towards him until I am standing between his legs, his eyes level with my belly button.

"Yeah?" I ask with a giggle. Me. Giggling. Old Sookie would smack a giggler; New Sookie has joined the ranks willingly.

"Yeah," he mirrors, with a solemn nod. His fingers brush the top of my jeans, dancing across the sensitive skin just above. "You were the first thing I thought about when I woke up." I know the feeling. "Do you want to know what I thought?"

"I'm not sure," I reply with a smirk. I'm fairly sure I do if it is anything related to what I want him to do to me right now. "Do I?"

"I think you do."

"What?" I am already breathless from the way his fingers are snaking their way up under my shirt. His hand stills when he reaches the underwire of my bra – a bra I had picked out carefully, mind you. Just as I had wanted to freshen up, I wasn't about to be unprepared with my industrial work undergarments.

"I thought about how much I would've liked to wake up with you next to me." His hands resume their journey north, his large fingers cupping the lace covering my breasts. "I thought about taking you back into that shower." I feel my knees begin to give out and shake my head to force myself to concentrate on staying upright.

"Only," his other hand pushes the hem of my shirt up, revealing the way he's cupping me. I lift my arms up without thought, helping dispose of the unwanted shirt and not particularly caring where it lands when I throw it over my head. "Instead of getting out and drying off, I thought about pressing you right up against the cold tile."

"Oh!" I moan breathily, both at his words and the way his mouth feels when it latches onto the skin above my belly button. There is no chance whatsoever that I am able to stand up on my own, and somewhere my brain registers that Eric's hands catch me when I begin to fall into him.

"Mmm," he says, shifting our bodies until he is hovering over me, my back pressed against the cushions. "It certainly made taking a shower rather…hard."

"I can imagine." His lips go to work on the side of my neck as his hands toy with my exposed skin. I reach towards him and tug at his t-shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. His shirt disappears, and I think I hear a muffled tearing noise, but frankly don't have time to figure out what that means with the way he's making me feel.

His skin is hot under my fingers, sticky from the humidity outside as I run my hands over his back.

"Where's Amelia?" he asks, sitting me up and unhooking my bra with a flick of his wrist.

"What?" I pant.

"Where's Amelia?" he repeats, his hands guiding the straps of the black garment over my shoulders and arms, leaving me bare to his gaze.

"She's…" He guides me back down before I can complete my sentence. He dips his head to drag open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, trailing down towards the tips of my bared breasts. "She's…"

"She's where?" he asks, pulling his lips from my skin and looking up at me with a smirk.

"She's at your house," I manage to eke out. He rewards me by resuming his kisses on my breasts.

"Why?" I ask. As if it matters. She's not here, and Eric has his mouth on my naked body; at this point, nothing else matters at all.

"Because," he responds, making his way back up to my face, stopping when his lips are near my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine. "There are things I want to do to you."

"Yeah?" I squeak. My breathing has increased to a frenzied pace, and I have no chance of controlling it when his hands pop the fly of my jeans open.

"Yeah," he replies, easing the denim and lace underneath down over my hips and legs. "And I don't think I can make it off this couch before doing them."

…

Later, we lay in a mass of sweaty limbs on top of my bed, pillows strewn everywhere. We had made our haphazard journey from the couch – stopping for a brief interlude that involved the wall in the hallway – and came to finish in my bedroom. My head rests on the heated skin of his chest as I listen to his heartbeat slow down to a resting rate. His hand skims my spine lazily, his touch both exciting and comforting.

"I suppose now's the time where I should ask you how your day was."

I chuckle and bury my face against his chest before propping myself up on my elbow to look at him. "I think it's a little late for that. That's more of a first five minutes kind of question."

He smiles at me, his blue eyes hooded as he takes me in. "What can I say? I had other matters to see to that were more…pressing."

"I can see that."

"I didn't think you'd mind."

"I didn't!" I insist. "Seeing to pressing matters is much more important than inquiring about my day."

"I'm glad we see eye to eye. At least most of the time."

I shiver involuntarily as the air conditioning kicks on; somehow lying naked on top of the covers had seemed like such a good idea.

"Come here," he shifts his hips upward and pulls the down comforter from beneath him. He effortlessly picks me up and tucks me under, climbing in beside me and pulling me fully against him. "I have to say that you can't knock going to sleep like this."

"Mmmm," I burrow myself into his side. "Me too."

After a moment of silence, he starts. "How was your day though? First day back and all that?"

"It was fine." I try to push back the way I'd felt when everyone was looking at me knowingly. "Lots to catch up on after being gone."

"I can imagine." He twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. "Did anyone…say anything?"

"About what?" I ask, stiffening against him. It was bad enough when I thought they had only hounded me. If they'd said something to Eric? I'd just die.

"I don't know… Lafayette came down to the shack and was talking about seeing some action on the beach and –"

"That little snake!" I shriek, sitting up. "I told him to mind his own business, and he went down and tried to get the details out of you?"

Eric laughs and pulls me back towards him. "I didn't say anything."

"Of course you didn't." Of course he didn't.

"I was a bit surprised when he asked me though," he continues. "I didn't think there was anyone else on the beach that morning. Not that it would have stopped me from kissing you like that."

Good to know.

"I know that they're going to talk. It's the nature of the business. But…I'd rather not have to deal with them knowing."

"They're going to know, Sookie," Eric says. "Even if we don't say anything, they're going to know by the way I look at you; the way you look at me back."

I feel my skin grow hot; even hotter than it is just being pressed against him. "Do you think it's that obvious?"

"Sookie," he pulls me towards him until I am nearly lying on top of him. "I had a hard time not dragging you into the linen closet before I saw you naked; now I'm going to have a hard time keeping my hands off you period. I think they'll know."

"Oh."

"Yes," he chuckles. "Oh."

"So you're telling me to steer clear of linen closets?" I ask with a giggle that quickly turns into something else when he kisses my neck.

"Not at all." He lifts his head up to kiss the tip of my nose. "In fact, I'd say I'm advising you to be near a linen closet at all times."

"Is that so?" I ask, trying to be coy as his lips cover the skin of my neck.

"Mmm. Unless you'd prefer me to do this on the concierge desk."

"Do what?"

"Let me demonstrate."

**AN:** I want to thank everyone for continuing to read about the Surfer and Sookie. I cannot express how lovely it is as an "author" to know that there are people out there who are enjoying the story that I have created. And thanks again to **pfloogs72** for pre-reading - go read her Life Imitating Art!

I know that there are some of you out there that would like to see more detail on certain things; all I can say to you is that things aren't going to change for the Surfer. I appreciate if you continue to read this, but also understand if this is your last stop for this story. This is a wonderful community, and there are literally thousands of stories out there that run the gamut on that front and can meet all your needs.

Thanks again for everyone who has stuck with this story. I hope you enjoy riding the wave all the way into the shore with Surfer Eric and his Beach Bunny Sookie :D

Don't forget to write your entry for the Saint Eric fic, where you can point out all of Eric's wonderful qualities and demonize the heck out of Sookie. Gosh; you'd think it was the Sookie Stackhouse Mysteries and not the Eric Northman Files. Details located on the ~SaintEric fanfiction page.


	22. Chapter 22: Dawn Patrol

**AN:** It's Thursday (again!)! That means another installment of our favorite surfer and his beach bunny. I hope you all enjoy it :D

Thanks to everyone for reading, and for all the lovely support in your reviews. Please know that even if I don't respond, I do appreciate every single one.

And giant thanks to the lovely **pfloogs72** for being my guiding light on this story. If you're not reading **Life Imitating Art**, you should be!

**

* * *

Chapter 22: Dawn Patrol**

The space Eric normally occupies on the bed beside me is cold when I wake up. I look over at the red numbers illuminated on his alarm clock, and even with my blurry morning eyes, I can make out that it's not even six yet.

I roll over onto my stomach and bury my nose into Eric's pillow, smiling to myself when I catch his scent. It has been three weeks since I returned from Bon Temps; three weeks since I finally "yielded" as Eric likes to say. We have spent every night together, mainly at his house, but sometimes at mine. Amelia and Pam had quickly devised a system (and I suspect may have even made charts) to ensure that we are never at the same house on the same night. There really is no point in leaving one house empty – and it only took Eric catching Pam and Amelia in a rather compromising position once to get him to agree to follow the schedule.

I hear the sound of running water from Eric's adjoining bathroom and decide to see what he's up to. I push the door open quietly and smile when I am greeted by Eric's broad, bare back. The small radio sitting on the counter is on, the sound barely audible in the otherwise silence. I furrow my brows and attempt to concentrate on what's being broadcast. All I can make out is something about twenty foot swells.

"What are you doing awake?" I ask, my morning voice scratchy from a lack of sleep.

He turns around and greets me with a smile, crossing the short distance of the bathroom and stopping in front of me. "I didn't think you'd be awake after last night."

I shake my head and step into his open arms, wrapping my own around his waist. It is very true that a normal person wouldn't be awake at such an early hour after the nightly activities we had partaken in. Then again, he was awake too.

"I wouldn't be. And you shouldn't be. Certainly not looking as happy as you do."

He hugs me tight and I feel the laughter rumble in his chest before it escapes his lips. "What can I say? I think you invigorate me."

"Alright, Mr. Chipper. Glad to be of service. But what in the hell are you planning on doing at this hour?"

He takes me by the hand and leads me out of the bathroom to the large picture window that dominates the far wall of his bedroom. The sun is barely peaking over the horizon; the beach utterly desolate, save for a few seagulls and a stray surfer or two.

"The waves are killer today." He points out to the water, violently heaving itself against the shore. I still cannot get used to the size of the waves this time of the year. I've been to beaches aplenty, but have never seen anything that compares to the North Shore in the dead of winter.

"You're going out there?" I ask incredulously, tilting my chin up to look at him.

He nods.

"You're insane!"

"Maybe," he shrugs. "But you love me anyway."

I still at his use of the "l" word. I feel my heart start to race at a ridiculous speed and clench my fists to keep from doing – or saying – or saying anything that wouldn't be appropriate at this stage of our relationship. Even as imperceptible of a motion as it is, he notices.

"Too early to declare your undying devotion to me?" he chuckles, dragging me towards him. "I would have thought that after that trick I did last night you'd be singing a different tune."

"Eric!" I shriek, thankful for the distraction from any form of discussion about what we are to each other. It's not that I don't like him; I do. But love is not a word I bandy about easily.

"What? I thought you enjoyed it." He frowns playfully. "You certainly seemed to enjoy it when you were calling me a Viking sex god."

"I did not call you a Viking sex god. That's ridiculous."

"You didn't? Hmm. Maybe you should."

"It'll never happen Northman." Even if he is something akin to one. "I don't think you need me to stroke your ego any more."

"Maybe not my ego." He cocks one eyebrow high on his forehead.

"Eric!"

He laughs and turns me around, swatting me on my butt. "Go get dressed."

"Why?"

"Come with me."

"I am _not_ going surfing in that!" I point out the window.

"Of course you aren't," he says, suddenly serious. "I would never let you – or anyone that was a beginning surfer - take a risk like that."

"Oh," I frown. "Then why do I need to get dressed?" I look down at the oversized t-shirt I'd thrown on in the middle of the night. Eric's t-shirts had quickly become my favorite form of pajamas.

"I was hoping to see you in your bikini," he smirks. "But then again, if you'd rather we skip going out there together, I'm sure I could come up with a few activities to keep us occupied."

"As tempting as that sounds," I say sarcastically, "you're already in your wetsuit. And I know how hard it is to peel that sucker off of you."

"They do say that practice makes perfect," he points out. "I'm willing to be your test subject."

I shake my head as I make my way towards the bathroom. "Give me ten minutes," I say, shutting the door firmly behind me. I quickly pick up the jeans I had discarded in a puddle on the floor the night before and hastily pull them on.

I grimace when I see my reflection in the mirror; I am so not one of those women that looks perfect when I wake up. There are dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep, and my hair shows the telltale signs of exactly what I had been up to the night before. I do the best that I can to smooth my hair back into a ponytail and brush my teeth before reemerging into Eric's bedroom, where I find myself alone.

I grab the white lace bra dangling from a post on his bed and put it on, pulling one of Eric's hooded sweatshirts on and zipping it up to my throat to finish my ramshackle ensemble. Oh well, it's not as if I'm trying to win any fashion awards at six in the morning.

I pad out to the kitchen and find Eric sipping a cup of coffee. He raises his eyebrows when he sees me.

"No bikini?" he asks with a look of disappointment.

"It's freezing!" I reply, crossing the distance and taking a sip out of his coffee mug. "And unlike you, I don't have that Nordic blood that enjoys the cold."

"I'll be happy to warm you up when I'm done in the water."

"I'm sure you will, but I have a date with Mr. Coffee there to do the trick for me until you're ready. In fact, he can be like Miss America and you can be the lady-in-waiting."

"Ready to fulfill my duties in the event he can't?"

"Exactly."

"Should I be jealous?"

"Absolutely." I reach into his cupboard and take out a large mug, filling it with coffee, sugar and cream.

"I can do things coffee can't, just saying." He shrugs with a smile.

"Yes, I am very familiar with that."

He takes my hand and we walk to the back door, stopping for Eric to pick up his board and gear. We walk down the deep sand together, stopping when we are ten or fifteen feet beyond where the waves are crashing. The last thing I want to do is end up wet and shivering while he's out in the water.

Up close, the waves are even more majestic than they had been from Eric's window. Each crest is at least twenty feet high – hence the voice on the radio – creating a sort of cliff effect where the sand and water meet. I slink down to my knees, feeling the wetness of the sand even through the heavy denim, and watch Eric as he prepares to go master the sea.

He slicks his semi-long hair back into a stubby ponytail at the nape of his neck and sits down next to me. He digs into the small bag he'd brought along and pulls out a small jar. He opens it, dips his fingers inside and begins to wax his board.

"You know what they call this?"

"Please tell me you were not about to make an innuendo about sex wax at six am, Eric." I roll my eyes and shift so that I am sitting on my butt, my hands behind me propping my body up.

"You're catching on Stackhouse," he replies with a smile. "Soon you'll be talking about long boards and rides like a pro."

"Oh really? Do you think I could be so lucky?" I roll my eyes.

"I can give those kinds of lessons as well, you know."

I feel myself start to blush and shove at his shoulder. "I think we've got more than enough lessons going on. Now go out there. I sure as heck didn't leave the warmth of your bed to sit here and twiddle my thumbs."

He smiles and stands up, the sun rising behind him casting a faint shadow across my legs. "I kind of like when you're bossy like this."

"Go!" I say with a groan.

He doesn't say anything else, just turns around with a chuckle and heads out towards the water. I watch as he makes his way down the sand cliff, and lose sight of him momentarily before he begins to paddle out towards the water. It's amazing how very deep the sand is; how large the differential between where I am sitting and where the waves have carved the shore.

I wrap my arms tightly around my knees, both for warmth and comfort, and watch as Eric makes his way in the water, ducking beneath the violent waves as they roll in. It amazes me how at ease he is in the ocean; if I was out there, I'd probably be having a heart attack, or at the very least an anxiety attack at the way the water is manipulating his body. Eric, meanwhile, is completely in his element. It's almost as if he can leave everything behind as soon as he steps into the water.

I don't count the number of times Eric catches a wave and rides back to shore, only to turn around and paddle out again. I am so mesmerized by him, by the other surfers that join him, that I can't concentrate on anything else. I lose track of him a few times, and I'll admit my heart catches in my throat when he's out of my line of vision. It's not that I don't think he's fully capable; it's just that surfing isn't exactly the safest sport.

When I spot his blond head bobbing in the water, I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. And then it hits me. Maybe my earlier mild panic attack about Eric's love joke has some basis. Maybe, just maybe, my feelings for Eric are something more than I had imagined. Somehow, in these last three weeks, Eric has become a vital part of my life. I can't imagine what I would do if something happened to him. I certainly can't imagine what life would be like on Oahu without him being a part of it.

I silently curse myself. How could I have gone and gotten in so deep so quickly? It's not as if I had planned this to be anything more than a fling. But then again, who am I trying to kid? I know that I'm not a no-strings-attached kind of gal; and a no-strings-attached relationship certainly didn't involve two people spending every night and most days together. Heck, those kinds of relationships usually had one party hopping out of bed as soon as they managed to catch their breath.

Still, I'd be lying if I say it doesn't worry me. It doesn't mean I know what to do. I can't tell Eric my revelation – what if he doesn't feel the same? What if he just thinks this is a fling? No. That's not being fair. I know that this isn't a fling for him; he's said as much. But I have no idea what he'd do if I told him that I couldn't live without him, like I was in some cheesy 80s band.

"Well, lookie here." I am pulled out of my second panic attack in less than an hour by the droll sound of Pam's voice.

I look up and cover my eyes with my hand to block out the sun. She looks perfect, as usual, wearing a pair of denim cut offs and a fitted pink button down. She has on her ubiquitous pearls, and there isn't a single hair out of place. I'm sure behind her oversized Chanel sunglasses that even her makeup is perfect.

"Did my brother drag you out here to watch him on that little surfboard?" She sits down gingerly next to me, avoiding contact between the sand and any of her clothing.

I smile and look back out at the water. "He didn't drag me."

"Don't tell me you came willingly?"

"I like to watch him surf."

"Ugh. Women and my brother. I will never understand," she replies with a shake of her head.

"He's good looking," I start. "And nice."

She snorts. "I don't think anyone has ever describe my brother as _nice_."

"No." My shoulders shake with the start of laughter. "I don't suppose they ever have. But he is. I'm sure it's not a descriptor that he wants to hear though, so let's keep it between us."

"Keep what between you?" Eric interrupts.

I look up to see him standing behind me and nearly jump out of my skin.

"You _really_ need to stop sneaking up on me like that!" I watch in admiration – and a wee bit of lust – as he peels his arms out of his wetsuit and reaches for the beach towel next to me and begins to dry himself off. I'm practically drooling by the time he has moved from his face to his chest.

"Oh sweet Jesus," Pam says. "Could you please stop eye fucking my brother when I'm sitting right here?"

"What?" I ask incredulously, cursing that I got caught.

"You were eye fucking me?" Eric asks with a smirk, and sinks down into the sand next to me. He throws a still damp arm over my shoulder and pulls me towards him until I am flush against his body.

"No," I look down at my hands, though my face is pressed against his chest so even that seems a bit futile. "I was um…" Totally eye fucking him.

"Eye fucking him," Pam repeats. "No use in denying it. I saw it myself. Look. I'm glad you have a healthy sexual appetite, really I am. And I don't even mind having to listen to you when you're-"

"Pam!" I screech. I didn't know it was possible to be more embarrassed. I was wrong.

"Fine." She waves her hand dismissively. "We don't have to talk about it. That's not what I'm here for anyway."

"You're here for something?" Eric asks. His grip loosens just enough for me to sit upright. The chill of the breeze on the damp spots of my sweatshirt – Eric's sweatshirt really – sends a shiver down my spine.

"Of course," Pam replies with a curt nod.

"Something other than bothering me?"

"It is my very favorite hobby. I do so excel at it."

"Of course you do."

I look back and forth as they banter and can't help but smile. There's something about brothers and sisters that makes bickering entertaining. It's obvious that they love each other; I know that either would be the first to defend the other.

"Anyway," Pam huffs. "I got a call from Mom and Dad last night."

"And?"

"And I thought you might want to know that they're going to be here tomorrow."

"What?" Eric and I both ask at the same time. My voice comes out in something akin to a shriek, though Eric's is much more calm. Of course it would be; these are his parents after all. I have to look at them as not only my boss, but as my new boyfriend's – if he was my boyfriend that is – parents.

"Did both of you forget how to speak English?" Pam rolls her eyes. She slows down her speech as if she is talking to a three year old. "My parents. Your parents. They will be here tomorrow."

"Why?" Eric asks, echoing my thoughts exactly.

"In case you forgot, they own this little hotel."

"I am not an idiot. Why are they coming here on such short notice?"

"You could have fooled me," Pam grumbles. "Maybe if you talked to them more than twice a year you'd have a clue what they're doing."

"I talked to Dad last week."

"And he didn't mention that he and Mom were going to be in Kauai?"

"I…" he trails off. "I was kind of distracted."

I flush as I recall exactly what he had been distracted by when his father had called him. In fairness, the call had come in at 10:30 at night, not exactly an unusual time for the activities we had been partaking in.

"They're in Kauai?" I interject, anything I can do to stray from the topic before Eric says anything too embarrassing. I don't particularly want Pam to know the particulars of our sex life.

"Yes," Pam says with a nod, looking towards me after a moment. "They're overseeing some work on the new property."

"New property?" I haven't heard anything about a new property in Hawaii, or anywhere else for that matter. I guess that's not surprising given that I am hardly an essential member of the Northman Group's team, but I would have thought _someone_ would have mentioned it. Like, say, the man I am sleeping with.

"Do you two _ever_ talk?" Pam asks, shooting an accusatory glance at Eric. "Do I need to remind you that there are other things you can do with your mouth. Take speaking for instance."

"Mom and Dad are opening a new property in Kauai," Eric says, ignoring his sister's comments. "Construction started last year and they're just putting the finishing touches on it. Last I heard, the opening is in May."

"June actually," Pam corrects. "There was some problem with the contractor that they had to iron out. They're coming to Oahu tomorrow and they are definitely interested in meeting _you._" At the last word, Pam looks directly at me, and I feel like the world has fallen out from beneath me.

"Me?" I ask, my voice barely above a squeak. I clear my throat. "I mean, why are they interested in meeting me?"

"Why wouldn't they want to meet the woman warming their son's bed? After all, it's not as if he's boffed the same woman more than a handful of times in years. You know they want grandbabies Eric, and since I'm not of that persuasion, it's all up to you."

"Pam," Eric growls, then turns to me. "I'm sure they have no clue who you are in relation to me. I haven't said a word."

Okay. That should be reassuring. I mean, it's not like I told Jason that I am sleeping with Eric. Yes, he'd surmised that I was in a relationship when I was in Bon Temps, but I hadn't advertised it. And brothers are slightly different than parents. It's not like I want to be introduced as the girl who is whoring around with their son, yet for him to not have said anything _at all_ doesn't give me the warm fuzzies either. Especially since I'd had that startling conclusion about my feelings for him not even ten minutes ago.

Pam breaks into the moment by groaning. "Of course no one told them. It's not like we're the freaking Bradys. I just mentioned to them that Amelia had brought you over from the states and what an asset you are to the team. They are always interested in meeting up and comers."

"Oh… um… thank you, Pam." I smile as much as I can, still conflicted about meeting Eric's parents in any fashion.

"You're welcome." She turns to look back at Eric. "I think they want to stay with us, so your little overnight adventures are either going to have to go on hiatus for a few days, or we're going to have to let them in on what's happening."

Without looking at me, Eric responds. "I don't need to hide my relationship from our parents."

"I..uh…" I interject.

"What's that?" Eric asks.

"I…well… maybe it's not the best time to let your parents know that we're…"

"Humping like bunnies?" Pam suggests.

"Something like that," I say without looking in Pam's direction. I silently groan as the look of confusion crosses Eric's face. I am sure this is the first time a woman has ever wanted to deny a relationship with him. I don't want to deny a relationship with him, but I also don't want to be forced to define it either. "It's just…well, they're technically my employers. I don't want to give them the wrong impression. Like that you hired me because we were sleeping together."

"We weren't sleeping together when you were hired," Eric says. "And, as a matter of fact, I didn't hire you at all. I didn't even _know_ you were being hired."

"That's not the point, Eric. How would it look if you introduced me to your Mother as your employee and your…" I trail off, uncertain as to what to call myself.

"Girlfriend?" he offers up.

"Erm…yes." I can't help but smile. We haven't yet discussed what exactly our relationship is, not in those terms anyway. Hearing Eric call me his girlfriend does something funny to my insides. It's that little "l" thing popping up again. I try to squash it down, or at least set it aside momentarily.

"I can guarantee you that she wouldn't care."

"You don't know that."

"I do," I insist. "I don't want to come across as some hussy that-"

"Hussy?" Pam asks, throwing her head back and laughing. "I don't think I have heard anyone ever use the word hussy. You are too much, Sookie."

"Pam," Eric barks. "Can you please give us a moment alone?"

"No," she replies with a cheeky grin, and adjusts herself to a more comfortable position in the sand.

"Pamela." His voice is laden with threat.

"Yes, brother dearest?"

"Leave."

"No, I do rather think I would enjoy a bit of sun at the moment."

"Fine." Eric stands up and offers his hand to me. "We'll leave."

I take his hand and stumble over my feet when he helps me stand up. He doesn't say a word, just pulls me along behind him. I barely have a chance to say bye to Pam before we're halfway across the beach, his surfboard effortlessly tucked under his arm. He remains silent until we're back in his bedroom, the door firmly locked behind us to prevent any further intrusions.

"I'm sorry about that," he says.

"About what?"

"My sister. She's…difficult."

"She's Pam." I shrug and sit down on the still unmade bed, tucking my legs beneath me.

I watch as he paces back and forth before me, halting every few steps before continuing.

"Do you really think people think that?" he blurts out.

"Think what?"

"Think that you were hired because I wanted to sleep with you?"

"What? No," I shake my head. "Well… maybe. But I don't really care what Arlene thinks."

"No one cares what Arlene thinks," he replies with a smirk.

"But…it's your _parents_. It's not Arlene. What they think matters. And I just don't want them to have the wrong impression when they meet me."

"My parents really won't care. They met at work themselves; they're the last to judge. They've known about Amelia and Pam for ages. They don't care."

I'm silent, racking my brain for the words to say to make him understand, but how can I say what I'm really thinking? How can I tell him that my heart raced when he called me his girlfriend; that I was afraid that I was tumbling down the path to being ridiculously infatuated with him? How do I say that and then explain that I am concerned about the implications of us dating as far as his parents are concerned.

"I won't say anything," he says, though he doesn't sound convinced.

"Thank you."

"But…" he continues, pulling me up and into his arms. "If they're going to be here tomorrow and you're going to have to sleep in that big old bed of yours by yourself, I think maybe I should give you something to think about."

"I think that's a fantastic idea." His hands reach for the zipper of his hooded sweatshirt I am wearing, and he slowly inches the pull down, revealing the tan skin and white bra beneath.

"Have I told you how much I love this white bra of yours?"

"No. As a matter of fact you haven't."

"Hmm. I'm not very good with words." He slowly slinks down my body until he is kneeling on the floor, his eyes level with the bra in question. "How about I show you instead?"


	23. Chapter 23: Clean Up

**AN:** Thursday already? I guess so! Thanks to everyone for reading this little slice of the fandom. And thanks to **pfloogs72** for being pre-reader extraordinaire! I hope you all enjoy the rest of the ride

**

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Chapter 23: Clean Up**

There is no mistaking the woman walking towards me. She looks exactly as I imagine Pam will look in approximately thirty years – excruciatingly beautiful and perfect; tiny, yet emanating strength from within.

Eric's mother.

I drop the papers I am holding in my hands and curse my clumsiness under my breath. Despite giving myself an hour-long pep talk this morning, I am apparently not prepared to meet the woman. I bend down and scoop up the paperwork I had been working on, giving myself a chance to catch my breath before standing up.

"You must be Sookie."

I nearly drop the papers again. She moves fast. She is standing on the other side of the concierge desk, a smile that matches that of her son on her face.

"Yes." I force myself to smile – and not my crazy smile! "And you must be Mrs. Northman. It's such an honor to meet you."

"Pish posh." She waves her hand dismissively. "Call me Diantha."

I clear my throat and test out her name in my head.

"I have heard so much about you from Pam and Amelia. They say you are just absolutely wonderful."

I smile despite myself. "I'm sure they exaggerate."

"We are talking about Pam here," she says, with a lowered voice. "I don't believe Pam knows how to lie. She never has seen the point."

I laugh and nod. "Very true."

"Even Eric said you've become an essential part of the team." I feel like she is scrutinizing me, though I can't put my finger on why; it's just the way she's looking at me, almost as if she's gauging my reaction.

"You have a very friendly family." That's not untrue. She doesn't need to know _how_ friendly I am with one particular member of her family.

"Thank you." She rests her elbows against the tall counter separating us. "I was hoping you'd have some time for lunch in about thirty minutes? Pam told me not to ask, but I reminded her that I'm her mother."

I laugh at the thought of someone being able to put Pam in her place. That would be worth the price of admission.

"With everything that they've said to me about you, I thought it might be a good idea for us to get to know each other. I always take a personal interest in our up and coming employees. Besides, Peter and Eric are off doing something or other, and I just hate eating alone."

While the thought of eating lunch with Eric's mom scares the bejeezus out of me, I find myself agreeing.

"Perfect. Should we meet at Molokai at 12:30?"

"Sounds great."

"Excellent." A broad smile covers her face. "I think I'm going to like you, Sookie Stackhouse."

She turns around and scurries off in the direction of Pam's office, and I let out my breath in a whoosh of air. I have thirty minutes to dwell on my decision; thirty minutes to psych myself out before going to lunch with the owner of the business I work for; the woman who gave birth to the man I am sleeping with, and quite possibly falling in love with. This should be great.

"Did I hear that right?" Arlene interrupts my thoughts.

"Did you hear what right, Arlene?" I ask with a huff, for once grateful that her irritating presence can distract me from my thoughts.

"Did Diantha Northman really just ask you to go to lunch with her? Alone?"

"Um…yes."

"Figures," she spits.

"What?"

"You're sleeping with her son; your best friend is sleeping with her daughter. Of course you're going to get special treatment."

"How is lunch special treatment?" I ask in genuine confusion.

"The woman can't even say hello to me, yet you get invited to lunch?" She flicks her red hair over her shoulder, sending the unnatural color cascading down her back. "Apparently sleeping your way to the top gets you somewhere."

"This has nothing to do with my relationship with Eric."

"Sure it doesn't." Arlene turns her attention back to the stack of paper in front of her, violently rifling through it.

"It doesn't," I insist. My relationship with Arlene has been contentious at best, but ever since Eric and I had gotten together, it's reached a new level. Any attempt she had made at hiding her disdain has been gone for weeks.

"Don't play dumb with me, Sookie Stackhouse. I'm better at it than you. You come sashaying in here with that long blonde hair and that bright smile, shoving yourself in Eric's direction. Of course he's gonna sleep with you. A man like him isn't about to say no to someone who's willing."

"He said no to you." The words are out of my mouth before I can think about them. I slap a hand over my lips, my eyes widening in shock at my bold words. I have been trying to keep my temper around Arlene; I know she's nothing but a troublemaker and isn't worth my anger, but damn it feels good to put her in her place.

I try not to laugh as her mouth flaps open and closed, the shock at my retort written over her face.

I am thankfully distracted by an approaching guest, luggage in tow, walking towards the desk.

"Mahalo," I say with a smile. "Welcome to Oahu."

…

The thirty minutes pass quickly, and I find myself standing outside the doors to Molokai before I know it.

_It's just lunch,_ I tell myself. _Lunch with your boyfriend's mother, not that she knows that._

I groan and push the swinging doors open, ready to face the situation one way or the other. One thing that this newfound life of Sookie Stackhouse has taught me is that sometimes it's best to face uncomfortable situations head-on. I had spent most of my life avoiding conflict to no avail; the minute I was ready to face it, everything had improved.

I spot Mrs. Northman – Diantha, I silently correct myself – sitting at a small table on the lanai and weave through the busy lunch crowd.

"Am I late?" I ask, sliding into the empty chair across from her.

"Not at all," she replies with a smile. "I thought my call would last longer than it did and decided to treat myself to a cup of Kona while I waited for lunch."

"I completely understand," I say, pointing at the steaming cup of coffee in her hands. "I didn't realize what a treat Hawaiian coffee was until I moved here."

"There is nothing like a fresh brewed cup of coffee on the island. Even having it back home tastes different." She smiles and takes a sip. "But enough about the coffee. I can't tell you how happy I am that you agreed to have lunch with me."

She may be the only one. Goodness knows Arlene was pissed, and I wouldn't exactly call myself "happy". Anxious? Maybe. Nervous? Definitely. But happy? Not so much.

We exchange pleasantries with the waitress who comes to take our order, and I smile when Diantha orders my favorite item on the menu. I follow suit.

"I have to tell you," she says when the waitress leaves our table, "I spoke with Portia Bellefleur after that event last month and the woman couldn't stop singing your praises."

"Really?" I am genuinely shocked; I had thought Portia wouldn't say anything nice about me, if anything at all. I had imagined that Quinn got right in her ear and that would be the end of the contract, but apparently I had overreacted. That's me – always assuming the worst.

"Really," Diantha nods. "I know, it's a bit of a shock isn't it? I don't think I've ever heard that woman give anyone a compliment, and I've been working with her on events over the last ten years."

"She was…"

"Difficult? Rude? The veritable spawn of Satan?" Diantha laughs, and I find myself joining her, put more at ease with the familiarity she has established.

"I think I'll go with D, all of the above?" I say, a giggle escaping my lips.

"I have worked with so many people over the years, I can say unequivocally that Portia Bellefleur is one of the worst! I can't tell you how thrilled I was that they've taken a liking to this particular property. With Pam and Eric at the helm, I can give them a chance to deal with that tornado. Though, I suppose, they passed it onto you, didn't they?"

"It wasn't like that," I defend. "Amelia knows that I am eager to take on more responsibility, and it seemed like a good fit."

"After you'd been here less than a month?" she asks with an arched eyebrow. "Not that you weren't capable, because clearly you are, but it sounds like a bit of 'pass it off on the new girl' to me."

"I was happy to do it."

"Of course you were. Eric said that you were the epitome of grace under pressure."

"He said that?" I ask, unable to stop the goofy grin from covering my face.

"Maybe not in so many words, but yes." She takes a moment to smooth a napkin over her immaculate suit. When she looks back at me, she has a gleam in her eye. "He speaks very highly of you."

"He has been…" I trail off. "Very helpful to me in my move to the islands." That sounds innocuous enough.

"I imagine he has," she replies with a chuckle. "That son of mine will do just about anything for a pretty face."

I feel myself start to blush, and open my mouth to protest. The waitress returns with our food, though Diantha picks right up where she left off.

"I do wish he'd be a bit more ambitious though," she continues, staring off into the distance over my shoulder. "He has the best intentions, and he really excels when he applies himself. It absolutely drives his father crazy that Eric won't take a more active role in managing this property. Or, I suppose more accurately that he won't let anyone know he's anything more than a surf instructor."

"He does so much for the property," I interject. I feel the need to defend him; defend his choices. By staying in the background, he can make decisions that could not otherwise be made. He doesn't appear to care about the spotlight, but he is always the first person there whenever there is a problem. Why, just last week he had been right there to help Maria when Mr. Godfrey had gotten a little too close for comfort. He'd politely injected himself into the situation, and managed to get Mr. Godfrey far away without insulting the guest.

"Oh I know that. Even Peter knows that. And believe me, we both think that it's lovely that Pam gets to exert herself here. But in a perfect world, each of my children would play a similar role in the business."

"You have two wonderful children. They're just wonderful in their own way."

"I certainly think so," she says with a laugh. "But I am glad that you agree. Not everyone can see Pam and Eric for what they are. They both put up their own walls; it is rare when they let someone in, and when they do, that person must be very special. It's one of the reasons I wanted to have lunch with you."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I wanted to meet the woman who has enchanted my children and our customers. I have to say, I can see why."

"I'm not exactly sure what I should say to that," I reply with a smile.

"You don't have to say anything at all."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Despite the easy atmosphere that she has created, I am still uncomfortable with most compliments of any sort.

"Pam mentioned that you were in Hawaii working on a new property?" I ask, changing the subject as quickly – and hopefully smoothly – as I can.

"Oh yes!" Diantha smiles. "We've been on Kauai for the past week. Peter and I have always been fond of the island – we spent our honeymoon at the Grand Hyatt as a matter of fact. We snapped up the land when we had the opportunity – I'm not sure if Pam or Eric have told you much about our philosophy, but we believe that it's important to start from the ground up to ensure that our vision is consistent throughout the brand."

I hadn't heard that from Pam or Eric, but I'd done some research on the business model of the Northman Group as soon as Amelia had hired me. Unlike other hoteliers, they didn't grab up existing, distressed properties. They believed in investing in the future of their properties from start to finish. It was an expensive model, for sure, but it had proven successful.

"Peter normally is the one that works with the architect," Diantha continues. "But I have had a plan in mind for a resort on Kauai since our first trip. I cannot tell you how pleased I am with the progress."

"Pam mentioned you were planning to open the property in June, was it?"

Diantha nods and reaches out to take a sip of her coffee. "We had planned on April or May originally, but of course it was pushed back. It's not an uncommon occurrence when these properties are being built, but that doesn't make it any easier to wait." She leans and lowers her voice, her smile conspiratorial. "I'm not known for my patience."

Neither is her son.

As if on cue, I hear a familiar voice behind me. It is nothing but a clearing of a throat, but I know it's Eric. My body stiffens; anxiety races through me at the thought of pulling off a casual acquaintance with Eric in front of his mother.

"Speak of the devil," Diantha says, a genuine smile breaking out across her face at the sight of her son.

"Hello mother," Eric says. I watch quietly as he bends down and brushes a kiss across her cheek. His hair is ruffled from being outside, a few stray strands dancing across the neck of his t-shirt. He turns to greet me with a smile and a glint in his eye. "Sookie," he nods.

"Hello, Eric." I do my best to act normal, whatever that is.

"Arlene said you might be here." He pulls a chair from a neighboring table and wedges it between us, as casual as the day is long.

"Were you looking for Sookie?" Diantha asks, looking between the two of us carefully.

"I was looking for you," he answers. "Sookie's just an added bonus."

"I see he's up to his old tricks." She turns back to look at me. "I swear, the boy came out of the womb trying to charm the nurses. As a mother, I can only hope that one day he'll sow his oats and settle down."

"I…uh…" I stand up suddenly, the noise of my chair scraping against the floor echoing through the room. "I should probably get back to work."

"Don't." Eric reaches out and clasps my wrist. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't," I insist. "I just remembered I have some reservations to book for tonight."

"Which you can do in fifteen minutes just as easily," he says, tugging my arm gently until I am back firmly in my seat. Once he is satisfied that I am going to stay in place, he leans over, picks a French fry off of his mother's plate and pops it in his mouth.

"What did I interrupt? Were you talking about how wonderful I am?"

His mother reaches out and slaps his hand from her plate playfully. "Now why would we go and do that, Eric darling? You know how I feel about lying."

"Ouch, Mom." His smile contradicts his words.

"We were talking about the property in Kauai," she continues. "I was just about to ask Sookie here if she'd like to go back with us tomorrow and view the progress."

"You were?" I ask.

"You were?" Eric's eyebrows raise to his hairline.

"I was," Diantha nods. "Sookie here seems to be a very bright young lady. I could use another woman's perspective, and since Pam couldn't care less about what we're doing over there, I thought Sookie might be willing to help me." She looks at me expectantly, and for once I am struck speechless.

"It'd be on the clock, of course."

As if that is what I am worried about. I don't know what to think – I had heard that Diantha Northman was known for her impulses – she'd said as much herself. But I couldn't knock the suspicious feeling I had that she wasn't the type of woman to invite a concierge on an excursion like this without ulterior motives. I just don't know what those motives are. Does she know about my relationship with Eric? I look back and forth between mother and son, searching for a clue that she has any idea, but see nothing.

"I… why?" I ask with a frown. "I mean, why me?"

"I like you," she smiles. "And I've got a good instinct for people."

"I don't know that Sookie has time to –"

"Eric," she says sweetly, "I'm sure Sookie can make up her own mind. And you needn't worry about your work schedule; I'll speak to Pam and Amelia about it for you."

I had never been to Kauai. And I can't deny that the idea of helping with the start up of a hotel – even playing a small role – is incredibly appealing, both personally and professionally.

"How long are you going?" I ask.

"I'm going back for at least two weeks, but we could have the helicopter fly you back to Oahu in a couple of days. I wouldn't want to keep you away from…things." The last word is laden with knowing undercurrents, but I try to not analyze it.

"Yes," I nod. "I'd love to go."


	24. Chapter 24: Jazz the Glass

**AN:** A little later that normal on Thursday, but we made the cut! Thanks to everyone for continuing to read the Surfer. I hope you enjoy their trip to Kauai.

And thanks to **pfloogs72** for being an amazing pre-reader. I swear I don't speak English sometimes

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Chapter 24: Jazz the Glass**

I pull up to the hotel at seven am; thirty minutes before I am supposed to arrive for our journey over to Kauai. I still cannot believe that I agreed to spend two days with Diantha Northman. As an employee, it's an incredible opportunity to interact with the owners of the business and help my career; but as Eric's secret girlfriend…I just pray that I don't let anything accidentally slip.

The employee parking lot is half full when I ease my car into a spot; the shift change isn't going to happen for another two hours, so I have plenty of time to get in and out before Arlene or anyone else can see me. I know that Diantha had promised to take care of all the details, but I do not want to deal with any problems those solutions may have created.

I pull my light carry-on suitcase out of the backseat and double check that I have everything I need for the journey. I will only be gone for two days, but the bag I packed is heavy. Diantha had given me some direction on what we'd be doing, which had helped immensely, but I don't want to be unprepared for anything.

I practically shriek when a large pair of hands wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against their owner's rock hard chest.

"Good morning," Eric says, nuzzling his nose into the curve of my neck. "Mmm, you smell delectable."

"Eric!" I spin around, looking all around us to ensure that there are no prying eyes. I don't see anyone, but we can't be too careful. I try to step back from his embrace, but his grip tightens as he holds me in place.

"I've missed you." He lowers his face and brushes his lips against mine.

I groan – partially in frustration at his blatant lack of concern about who sees us, and partially because I've missed him too. It's weird how quickly I acclimated to spending every night with him. My bed had seemed so vast last night that I almost felt lost.

"What are you doing here?"

"I work here, remember?" He releases me and reaches down to take my bag from my hand.

"No. I mean, what are you doing here now? I thought you had today off."

"I do." He doesn't say anything more as he begins to head towards the employee entrance.

"So you just hang around the hotel at seven am? Did you go surfing this morning?"

"No," he replies, looking over his shoulder to make sure I'm following. "I had to pack."

"Pack? Are you…going somewhere?"

"Sure I am." He stops and turns around, smiling down at me. "Didn't I tell you that I'm going to Kauai too?"

I think I would have remembered that.

"No."

"Oh," he smirks. "I'm going to Kauai." He turns around and continues into the hotel. I run up and around him, placing a hand on his chest to stop him.

"What do you mean you're going to Kauai too?"

It is going to be uncomfortable enough being with his mother with the possibility she knows something is going on; there is no way we'll be able to keep up the pretense if Eric is actually there.

"I thought a mini-vacation was a good idea. I've been meaning to take you to one of the islands, but things keep getting in the way. And Mom and Dad have been wanting me to get over to the new property for a while. This seemed like the perfect opportunity."

"This isn't a vacation, Eric."

"Whatever you want to call it," he shrugs. "It's a chance for us to spend some time together; away from everyone's prying eyes."

"With your mother? Do you really think it's the best time for a romantic getaway?"

"Oh, Dad's coming too." Great. Both of Eric's parents.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better about the situation?"

"They'll occupy each other, and that gives me plenty of time to…occupy you. Really, they won't even notice, or care for that matter. They both like you."

I had met Peter Northman yesterday as I was leaving lunch at Molokai. He is nearly as tall as his son, with the same striking blue eyes, though Eric is a definite mix between both of his parents.

"Plus," Eric continues, "they both go to bed early, so they won't notice if we share a room."

"I am not sharing a room with you, Eric!"

He laughs and steps around me. "I didn't think that would fly with you. Don't worry, we have our own rooms, though I think it's a bit ridiculous. We're two grown adults that haven't slept together in…" he looks at his watch. "Two days; three hours and forty-two minutes."

I don't have a chance to respond as we round the corner and practically run into his mother standing in the lobby. I pray that she didn't hear anything.

"There you are." She greets me by holding out both of her hands and taking my own. "I see Eric found you."

"Yes," I blush. "Good morning."

"You look just lovely today." Diantha looks over my shoulder at her son. "Doesn't she look lovely today, Eric?"

He mumbles his assent, and I can feel his eyes as they sweep over my body. I try not to react, but am afraid I fail miserably.

"Thank you," I say, looking down at the blue sundress I'd selected last night for travel. It managed to be sophisticated and demure; not that you would guess that the way Eric's eyes linger on me.

"Peter and I need to hop on a conference call with some folks in New York – the time difference gets in the way here doesn't it? We should be done in about twenty to twenty-five minutes. Do you mind waiting?"

"I'm sure we can find something to keep ourselves entertained," Eric smirks. Yes, I'm sure there are a thousand things he can think to do with me in twenty minutes; not that he is going to do a single one. A vision of Diantha and Peter walking in on us in the linen closet is enough to make me feel sick to my stomach.

"I've got a few things I wanted to finish up," I interject. "Maybe you can call me when you're all ready, Eric?"

His brows furrow briefly. "Sure," he finally responds.

I say a brief goodbye to Diantha and Eric before spinning on my heel and heading towards the office area. I need to put distance between Eric and me. It's not that I don't want to see him – goodness knows I do – but I am afraid of myself around him. The easiness that we feel with each other does not translate into a working relationship. Or, not at least when his mother is involved.

Maria greets me with a friendly hello as I walk past the concierge desk. I haven't had much opportunity to work with her, though I've come to like her anyway. She always seems to get scheduled at night and I have somehow miraculously been scheduled during the day when Eric is at work (hardly a coincidence, despite his protests otherwise).

I slide into the chair behind Amelia's computer, the air conditioning cooled leather shockingly cold against the bare backs of my thighs, and turn the monitor on. I don't really have much to check on – I'd made sure that everything was done before leaving yesterday. I log into the online email system and peruse the twelve emails that came in during the night. There's nothing pressing; all of the emails are from local organizations, providing schedules of upcoming events. I am cleaning out my inbox when I look up and see Eric standing in the doorway, two cups of steaming coffee in his hands.

"Is something wrong Sookie?" he asks, covering the short distance to the desk in a handful of steps. He sets one of the cups in front of me. "Two sugars and cream, just as you like it."

"Thank you Eric." I pick up the cup and take a sip, groaning with delight as the liquid passes my lips. "And no, nothing's wrong. Why?"

"You just seem…on edge." He chuckles when I jump as he touches my hand. "See?"

"I…I guess I kind of am," I sigh.

He sits down on the chair across the desk, pulling it close enough that he does not need to break contact of our hands. His thumb rubs back and forth across my knuckles, sending shivers down my spine. I allow myself to close my eyes and enjoy the sensation.

"Why are you nervous, Sookie?" His words pull me out of the moment, and I quickly jerk my hand back, placing it firmly in my lap. His eyes are full of concern as they look at me. I want to reassure him that it has nothing to do with him, because it really doesn't. I'm confused; anxious; restless.

"It's nothing," I start. "I didn't sleep well last night and –"

"I didn't either. I miss having you in my bed."

I smile, but don't encourage him to continue. "It's a bit nerve wracking when the owners of the company you work for are flying you off-site. I don't know why in the world your mom would possibly want to spend time with me, or why my opinion would matter to her."

"She likes you." He makes it sound so simple, as if this is an every day occurrence, even though I know it isn't.

"But why? I barely said ten words to her before she invited me to come along."

"I liked you before you said ten words to me."

"You liked my boobs," I say with a roll of my eyes. "That's entirely different."

"True." The mischievous grin that crosses his face is infectious. "But that was only until you opened your mouth."

"You haven't told her _anything_ about us?"

"I said I wouldn't, and I didn't." He's a bit defensive, not that I blame him. "Look. It wouldn't matter if she did know, but I can assure you that she doesn't. It's not as if she's done this with other women I've dated. She likes you; that's all there is to it. She couldn't stop talking about you last night at dinner. I thought Pam was going to combust."

"I…"

"Stop doubting yourself Sookie." He stands up and walks around the desk, stopping to rest a hand gently on my shoulder. "You aren't defined by dating me, and you never will be. People like you because of who you are; I like you because of who you are. All you need to do is be yourself and everyone will love you."

My heart catches in my throat at his words, and it feels like I'm swallowing a mouthful of cotton balls. This reassurance is exactly what I needed, though I never could have articulated it.

…

The property in Kauai is stunningly beautiful. I hadn't thought it was possible for a resort to exceed the Grand Ho`olaule`a in beauty, nor an island to be more tropical and lush than Oahu, but Kauai and the Northman property are both.

I have been in empty hotels before - it comes with the territory in working in them – but never one like this. Most properties are only empty when they are being renovated, and the absence of the drill and saw chorus only makes the emptiness that much more noticeable.

"Construction finished last week on the lobby," Diantha says, coming to a stop beside me. "There are a few areas that still need some touch up work, but now we're just working with landscaping and the interior designers. They're still working on some of the villas and outbuildings, but most everything is in place on this building."

The open floor plan of the main building is overwhelming. The thirty-foot high ceilings seem even taller with the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the beachfront below. The expansive marble reception desk dominates a wall of the room, and while the interior work is far from complete, there is enough in place to give me a feel of the property.

"It's beautiful," I say, unable to turn my attention away from my surveillance of the room before me.

"The lobby really was my pet project," she continues, looping her arm through mine to lead me around the room. "I knew exactly how I wanted this room to turn out, right down to the number of crystals in the chandelier. Peter thought it was ridiculous when we saw the cost of importing it from Italy, but I think it's worth it, don't you?"

I look up and see the thousands of tiny crystals reflecting light throughout the room and can do nothing but nod. That light fixture undoubtedly was worth more than two years of my salary, but it was exactly the kind of showcase piece that a room like this needed.

"It wasn't the cost," Eric's father interrupts, coming to a stop alongside his wife. "I just fail to see why a Hawaiian resort needs a chandelier at all."

"Oh no!" I find myself saying before I think. "It's perfect. I…" I nod, biting my lower lip. "It gives the room a sort of elegance that your customer base will appreciate."

"See?" Diantha laughs. "I told you she was smart." She pats my hand with her own. "Can you and Eric please make sure all of our belongings make it to the suites while I give Sookie here a tour? I hope you don't mind, but I put you on the fourth floor with Eric."

I catch Eric's eye, and shake my head before he can say anything. "Of course not."

…

I barely have time to catch my breath between Diantha's tour and getting ready for dinner. Diantha had introduced me to the recently hired head chef while he was in the kitchen, and had managed to sweet talk him into preparing one of his specialties for the four of us tonight. I have a sneaking suspicion that it had been Diantha's plan all along, but had managed to play the part of the innocent.

The suite they have put me in is gigantic – one of ten that had been completely finished down to throw pillows for the website and brochure. Large glass doors open out to a private lanai with a stunning view of the ocean beyond. I have never stayed in a room like this; never had the opportunity to be the first to sleep in a room like this.

I quickly shower and change my clothes, slipping on a smart black dress that can double as both casual and borderline cocktail. Diantha had assured me that anything I had brought would be fine, but I do not want to be the only one dressed casually.

As soon as I tuck my last stray hair into place, I hurry out into the hallway. I have ten minutes to make my way through the maze of hallways towards the kitchen, and I'm going to need every moment.

I am no more than five steps out of my door before I hear a doorway open to my left, and stop when I see Eric emerging from his room. He has changed into a pair of khaki pants and a white linen button down shirt. No matter how many times I see him, I still find myself speechless from time to time.

He smiles when his eyes meet mine, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly.

"I was wondering if my mom had kidnapped you."

I shake my head, frozen in place as he advances towards me. I smell a trace of his aftershave before he stops and takes my hands in his, pulling me in closely.

"No kidnapping," I reply, letting myself rest in the comfort of his embrace. "But I think I walked at least two miles with all that she showed me."

"She's excited to have a new person to talk to about the project. Pam and I haven't shown much interest since construction started, and Dad's been too busy with the acquisition in New Orleans to care much these past few months. But enough about that." His arms tighten around me, pulling me so close that I have to tip my head back to look at him. "I missed you today."

His hand skirts down my spine, the fabric of my dress tugging with his fingers' motion. "This dress is sexy," he mumbles, leaning down and brushing a trail of kisses along my jawline. "I'm going to have a hard time keeping my hands off of you tonight."

I sigh, his hot breath and words sending tingling sensations throughout my body. "I'm sure you'll figure out a way. I don't want to give your Dad a heart attack if he sees you trying to put your hand up my skirt."

"He wouldn't have a heart attack. He'd probably give me a pat on the back for wooing a beautiful woman. Or a high five at the very least."

I chuckle and step back from his embrace. "I doubt that."

"You don't know my father," he replies with a laugh.

…

I have been to dinners at some of the finest restaurants Dallas has to offer, and the places Eric has taken me on Oahu are nothing to shake a stick at, but none of them compare to the experience of eating a meal specially prepared for you by a world-class chef with Eric and his parents.

The conversation is easy, the majority of it taken up by Peter and Diantha as they regale me with stories of their experiences in the hospitality world and pepper in a few stories about Pam and Eric when they were growing up.

The food is delicious, and the chef's hidden passion as a sommelier is apparent as glass after glass of wine emerges with the dishes. I am not typically much of a wine drinker, but the talent of the pairings convinces me that I should be. I stop myself when I feel the alcohol start to go to my head – a little tipsy is fine amongst present company, but I'm smart enough to know that one or two more glasses will cross the line of acceptable.

Peter and Diantha excuse themselves as soon as the last course is finished, heading off to bed with a promise of a tour of the island in the coming day for me. I swear I see Diantha wink at Eric after she hugs me, but figure the wine is playing tricks on me when Eric does not respond.

I'm a bit shocked – and I'll admit, disappointed – when Eric walks me to my room and leaves me at the door with a chaste kiss on the forehead. I was sure that he would try something, what with his parents being on an entirely different floor, but figure it is for the best.

I kick out of my high heels and take my jewelry off, setting it securely back in my travel case. I am brushing my hair when there is a knock on the door. Not surprisingly, Eric stands there when I open the door. He holds up a bottle of champagne and two empty flutes in request for invitation into my room.

"I was wondering if there was something wrong with you when you didn't try to come in earlier," I say, stepping back to let him in. I pop my head out into the hallway to ensure that no one sees him enter, and quietly shut the door when I am assured that we are alone.

"What's that for?" I ask, turning back to the room where he has set up station on a small table in the corner.

"This? I thought we could use a celebratory drink," he replies, setting the glasses down and popping the cork with a loud boom. The bubbly liquid goes pouring over the side of the bottle, coating his hands before he can tip it into the glass. I watch, mesmerized, as he raises his hand to his lips and licks it away.

I clear my throat and try to calm my racing hormones down. When I know that isn't going to happen, I cross the room and come to a stop next to him.

"What are we celebrating?"

"Any number of things." He pours a glass and hands it to me. "You yielding to me-"

"Weeks ago."

"Still, always worth a celebration." He raises a glass in toast to me and takes a sip. I follow suit.

"What else?"

"You wearing that dress tonight?" His eyes rake over my body, and I feel the flush rise up my chest. I don't think I shall ever get over the way he looks at me.

"Is that a cause of celebration?"

"Oh yeah." He finishes his glass and refills it, encouraging me to do the same.

"Anything else?"

"You winning my parents over?"

"Do you think I did?" I ask, taking another sip and sighing as the bubbles travel down to my stomach. I was right; this one drink is my tipping point.

"Of course you did. Dad told me how much he liked you this afternoon, and it's clear Mom adores you as much as I do."

"Oh really?" I ask with a smirk, emboldened by the champagne in my glass and the forbidden nature of having Eric in my room with his parents in the same building. Granted, it is a massive building, but that doesn't seem to matter in my champagne addled brain. "Don't you think that would present some problems?"

"How so?"

"If your mom liked me as much as you do… I mean _adored_ me," I giggle. "Do you adore me, Eric Northman?"

"I would think that was rather apparent," he replies, setting his glass down and reaching out for mine.

"I didn't know," I tease, allowing him to pull me towards him and lock me in his arms.

"I suppose I'll have to show you then." In one fell swoop, he picks me up and carries me across to the bed, setting me down gingerly and kicking off his shoes to follow me down.

"With your parents above us?"

"Three floors above us."

"Still," I reply, my actions undermining my words as I fumble with the buttons of his shirt.

"I guess we'll have to be really quiet then, Stackhouse." He sits up and helps me remove his shirt, his lips seeking out my own. "You up to the challenge?" His breathing is heavy, the air fluttering around my face as he rests his forehead on mine.

"I think so."

Eric doesn't need any more encouragement. In a flash, my black dress is a puddle on the floor, followed quickly by his pants and both of our underthings.

The massive bed gives way beneath us as we roll together, touching and tasting every inch of exposed flesh. His skin feels like fire beneath my fingertips, though I am sure mine feels the same. Our bodies arch into one another, desperate to be as close as possible.

I let out a shuddered sigh when we join, matched by his own. Our movements become slower, more sensuous than ever before. And later, when we lay together, our limbs entangled and covered in a sheen of sweat, I rest my chin on his chest.

"I adore you too, Eric Northman."


	25. Chapter 25: Switchback

**AN:** What? It's Thursday again? These weeks they are a-flyin'! Thanks again to all of those who are reading and reviewing – you are the best! And super special thanks to **pfloogs72** for reading through and telling me if I'm being a dillhole. She just finished her first multi-chapter fic, Life Imitating Art, AND breached 1,000 reviews. Three cheers for the pfloogs! If you haven't read LIA yet, I beg of you to do so. It is one of my very favorites!

Now onto the surf show…

**~~Chapter 25: Switchback~~**

The trip home from Kauai is bittersweet. I am at once happy to be getting back to life as I know it, but sad to be leaving the intimacy of the smaller island. Eric had snuck out of my room in the early hours of the morning, waking me with a kiss before doing so. We had spent the entire day apart from each other – him working out business matters with Peter, while Diantha and I explored the island.

He had come to my room again that night, and had kept me awake until the wee hours of the morning. It was only coffee and a long, hot shower that had fueled me enough to stay awake for the farewells to Diantha and Peter.

"You ready?" Eric asks and picks up my suitcase as soon as his parents drive away from the heliport.

"I guess." I watch as their car fades in the distance before turning to face him. I am amazed how much I will miss this time on the island, away from regular life. It has been too long since my own parents passed, and the memories of them are spotty at best. Being around a husband and wife who so clearly love each other and their children had been comforting in a way I haven't experienced in a long time.

Eric helps me into the helicopter and takes the seat next to me. He reaches down and takes my hand in his, no longer needing to hide what we are now that his parents are not around. I squeeze his hand back lightly, relishing in the feel of his skin against mine, the weight of his hand as it rests on my leg.

We've become closer, if that is possible. Before this trip, we had spent every moment together that we could, but the connection somehow wasn't as deep. I don't know if it is due to the mini-separation, or if it's just that we are opening up to one another, but I know more than anything that I want to be with him.

I'm able to see more of the beauty of the short flight this time, uninhibited by my fear of the unknown. The crystal clear blue water is mesmerizing below us, juxtaposed by the jutting rocks that lead up to the islands, and the islands themselves. It is such different geography than I have ever known, but I can't imagine leaving it behind.

There is a driver at the helipad on Oahu, waiting to take us back to the hotel and our respective cars that wait for us there. Eric oversees the transportation of our luggage, allowing me to climb into the back of the town car. For whatever reason, I am utterly exhausted; so tired that I can feel it in my bones. I shut my eyes and lean back against the headrest while I wait for Eric to climb in, and when I open them we are already at the hotel.

"Sookie," Eric's voice gently calls as he shakes me awake. I blink rapidly before becoming fully alert and smile when I see his face so close to mine.

"We're here."

"Did I fall asleep?"

"You were out by the time I climbed in."

"Mmmm," I yawn. "I guess I didn't realize I was so tired."

He nods and climbs out of the car, leaning in to help me out too. The high sun casts shadows across his face, darkening everything but the whites of his eyes and the curve of his lips.

"I don't think you should drive home like this."

I stifle a yawn and stretch my arms as high as I can manage. "I'll be okay."

He chuckles and reaches out to take my hand. "I'll drive you home. We can come back and get your car later tonight or I can just bring you to work tomorrow."

I nod wordlessly. I know that I'm going to end up with Eric one way or the other – we've been pretending for too many days to spend even more time apart.

"Your place, or mine?"

"Why don't I call Pam and ask?" He opens his cell phone and dials his sister. Their conversations is brief, no more than a few words on either end, and he turns back to me with a smile. "Apparently they left a mess at your place that Pam doesn't think either of us will want to see."

"So, your place it is." At this point, there is very little difference where we stay. I have everything I will need packed into the roller suitcase sitting next to me, and I'm just about as much at home at Eric's as I am at Amelia's. If I'm planning to stay for a while, I've been thinking it might be a good idea to get a place of my own. But that's a thought for another day.

"We can swing by the store and pick something up for dinner, or we can go out. Whatever you'd prefer."

I agree to the former, and find myself standing in the produce section of the local grocers, trying to find the best looking papaya. I still don't understand how to pick tropical fruit, but I am getting better at it every time I come here. I fill the basket with a bounty of produce and make my way back towards the meat counter, where Eric is picking something fresh to grill for us. I can't help but smile as I walk towards him, taking in his long and lanky frame.

"How do you feel about butterfish?" he asks when he spots me coming towards him.

"Sounds great."

He reaches out and takes my free hand, pulling me against his side and throwing his arm over my shoulder as we wait for the butcher to package our order. The grocery store is practically empty, which isn't terribly surprising for mid-morning on a Tuesday, and we are back in our car and headed down the highway to Eric's place not even twenty minutes after pulling into the massive parking lot.

I kick off my sandals the second I cross the threshold, balancing the grocery bags precariously and holding the large door open for Eric to come through with our suitcases.

"I think I could sleep for another day or two," I say, pushing the door closed behind Eric.

"Something keep you up last night?" he asks with a smirk, setting our suitcases down and following me into the kitchen where I deposit the bags on the island.

"Just some bad dreams," I smirk.

"Oh really? Nightmares, was it?" He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. "I didn't hear you scream."

I laugh and place my hands over his. "Only because you told me not to."

He brushes a kiss across my temple before letting me go. "Why don't you go lay down and get some rest? I can put these away."

I make my way down the silent hallway, each step reminding me exactly how tired I am. I make no ceremony as I strip off my sundress and crawl into the big, empty bed. The cool sheets feel refreshing against my skin, and I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow.

…

The sun is setting outside of the large picture window by the time I wake up, and it casts long shadows throughout the large room. At some point while I was asleep, Eric must have crawled into bed with me, for his arms are wrapped around me like manacles. It feels good to wake up next to him again; the four days that I've woken up alone were noticeable.

I lay there for at least twenty minutes, relishing in the comfort of the lazy afternoon before my body's needs require me to dislodge myself from Eric's embrace. I quietly slip out of his arms, and smile when his peaceful face turns into a frown. He mumbles my name, and then turns over, hugging a pillow tightly against his body. Apparently it is a good enough substitute, because his breathing returns to the shallow telltale rhythm of sleep.

I slip into the bathroom and take care of my necessary business before deciding that it's a good idea to take a shower and wash the travel grime away. Eric is awake when I open the door from the steamy bathroom, and greets me with a smile.

"You should have woken me," he starts, propping himself up on his elbows. "I could've joined you."

"I didn't want to disturb you." I walk across the room, and clutch the oversized white towel to my body. All of my clothes are still inside my suitcase, which I'm sure is still out in the living room.

"That's the kind of thing I wouldn't mind being disturbed for."

"I'm sure not," I reply with a smirk over my shoulder. "Are you planning on lazing about in bed all night?"

"I was planning on you joining me," he replies, sitting up and swinging his legs over the bed. "You are far too tempting with your skin so soft and exposed." He comes to a stop when he is standing next to me, and reaches out to trace a finger along my spine.

I try to regulate my breathing to no avail. Even the slightest touch from Eric has the ability to get my heart racing.

"Whatdya say?" he murmurs, his fingers finding their way up my arm to cover the hand that is clutching the towel together.

My stomach protests loudly before I can respond, giving Eric all the answer he needs. I shrug my shoulders.

"I guess I'm hungry."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "You and your stomach."

"A fully belly is a happy belly," I replay and bend down on the floor to pick up one of Eric's disposed t-shirts. "You mind?"

"Not at all." Eric watches me closely as I pull the shirt over my head, letting the towel drop only when I'm covered – I'm not going to take any chances. "You couldn't even give me an inch, could you?"

"Of course not." I bend down and pick up the towel, walking over to the bathroom and tossing it over the towel bar. "Give you an inch and you'll –"

"Get you naked?"

"Something like that."

…

"Welcome back," Amelia's cheerful voice calls from the doorway of the kitchen. I look down to reassure myself that Eric's t-shirt is covering all of my important parts, even if it is a telltale sign of what we had been up to since our return.

"Amelia!"

"We thought we'd come and surprise you," Pam says, sauntering into the kitchen and peering over my shoulder at the salad I am constructing. "Where's my brother?"

"He's outside grilling the fish," I reply loudly, trying to give him the heads up that I did not get.

"What's that?" Eric calls from outside.

"We have visitors."

"Who in the world?" His head pops around the corner and he frowns when he sees his sister sitting next to me, picking through the spinach I've placed in a bamboo bowl. "Oh. Hello Pam."

"Hello, Brother Dearest," she replies with a smirk. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

"Not at all," I interject.

"Pity." She shrugs and saunters towards the open door and Eric. "I do so enjoy catching my brother in compromising positions."

"You're sick, Pam," Eric chuckles. "Now that you've seen that we're doing nothing more than making dinner, why don't you get the hell out of here?"

"Eric!" I reprimand.

"What? She's being obnoxious."

I look over at Amelia, who does nothing more than shrug. Being an only child herself, she has never understood the relationship between a brother and a sister.

"Do you two want to stay for dinner?" I ask.

"I'm sure they don't," says Eric quickly, but not quickly enough.

"We'd love to!" chime both Pam and Amelia. "If it's not an inconvenience," Amelia adds.

"Of course not," I assure them. I go to the refrigerator and pull out the rest of the package of butterfish Eric had purchased, and hand it to him. "We have plenty of food."

Eric grumbles as he takes it from me, but turns around and heads back towards the grill.

"He is so temperamental," Pam says as soon as he is out of earshot. "You'd think he didn't like spending time with his sister."

"Not while Sookie's around," Amelia says, walking to the cupboard and taking out two more wine glasses. "But I suppose I can't really blame him. It's not like we didn't take advantage of our break from your parents as soon as we could."

"Very true," Pam replies with a shrug and goes to help Amelia set the extra two place settings. "I'm actually surprised to see you dressed. Or…sort of dressed, I guess."

I look down at the t-shirt, which had not five minutes ago looked covering enough, but now looks like it barely covers anything.

"I…uh…I'll be right back." I scuttle out of the kitchen, grab my suitcase and hurry down the hall towards Eric's bedroom. One look in the bathroom mirror confirms my fear of looking like I'd just had sex, even if it isn't the case, and I force myself to get over it. I was having a sexual relationship with Eric; they knew that. Hell, they were the ones that talked about it way more than I ever did.

I quickly pull on a pair of jeans and a tank-top, slipping my feet into a pair of flip flops for good measure. After feeling that naked, something as simple as shoes can go a long way to going the other direction.

Eric has brought the fish in by the time I return, and is bickering with Pam when he looks up and sees me cross the threshold to the dining room.

"Aren't you looking more…covered," Pam snidely says, and sits down in one of the chairs lining the table.

"Pamela," he warns.

"Fine. Fine." She waves her hand dismissively and reaches out to grab a bottle of wine. "You apparently lost your sense of humor somewhere between the islands."

"Speaking of, how was Kauai?" Amelia interjects. Sweet Amelia. I will have to figure out a way to thank her at some future date.

"It's stunning," I say, taking a sip of my wine. "I thought Oahu was beautiful, and naturally it is, but it's so untouched on Kauai.

I regale Amelia was stories of our trip; of the beauty and splendor of the resort and the island itself as Eric plates up our food and sets it down in front of us.

"I felt like I was on the Blue Lagoon when Eric and I went down to the beach yesterday."

"Were you topless like Brooke Shields? Though your hair doesn't look nearly long enough to cover any of the good bits."

"Pamela!" Eric looks as if he would gladly stick the fork he is holding into her eyeball.

"No," I roll my eyes.

"It is beautiful," Amelia says, sending Pam a warning glance. "I haven't been to Kauai since I first moved out here, what with being so busy at the hotel. I'd like to get over there and see the new place at some point."

"I'm sure you'll get a chance," I reply. If Peter and Diantha invited me, there is no way the invitation won't be extended to Amelia. From what Diantha had told me, Amelia is one of the rising stars in the corporation.

"Have they hired a manager for the property yet?" Amelia asks, looking between Pam and Eric.

They both shrug. "I know Robert's coming over from Santa Barbara for the concierge job, but I have no idea on the manager," Pam says. "You know how they are. Mother is always rambling on about that perfect fit and destiny when it comes to those things."

"Hey," Amelia smirks, "that's what she said when she hired me here."

"And I'm glad she did," Pam replies, with a pat on Amelia's hand. "But I seriously doubt she had you hopping into my bed in her plans."

'You never know," Eric replies. "Remember when we first moved here and she nattered on to both of us that the property was going to bring us our heart's desire?" Pam groans and rolls her eyes, and Eric turns to face me. "Mom has this weird thing about fate and serendipity. I swear, you'd think she was a fortune teller the way she goes on sometimes."

"She's batty sometimes, is what she is," Pam says. "God love her, but if I have to hear her talk about my future one more time, I might just snap."

"She means well," Eric assures me. "I hope she didn't say anything weird to you while you were alone?"

"Not at all." In fact, she hadn't mentioned anything that even hinted at that. I had surmised that she made a lot of decisions based on her gut instinct, but there was nothing indicating that she believed in looking into crystal balls, or destiny.

"Good. I wouldn't want her to scare you off. I like you too much."

I lean in and lower my voice so that only he can hear. "Like me?" I tease. "I thought you adored me."

"You said it too Stackhouse," he mumbles in reply.

"That I did, Northman. That I did."


	26. Chapter 26: Coming Down

**~~Chapter 26: Coming Down~~**

It has been one month since our return from Kauai. I have settled back into the routine of work and Eric, and have even attempted surfing a handful of times at his insistence. I won't admit it to Eric, but it's true that it does get easier with each try. I know that I will never be the type of person that wakes up in the morning with the desire to hit the waves, but I can at least admit to enjoying myself when we're out there.

We've as much as moved in together; the four of us agreeing that it was much easier to have one place to sleep instead of hopping back and forth. Since Amelia's house belonged to her, and Pam was nomadic at her best, it wasn't a hard decision to have me move in with Eric. I still keep things at Amelia's, never wanting to cross any boundaries, but the majority of my belongings reside at Eric's and I'd be lying to myself if I pretend to not enjoy it.

We have fallen into an easy routine – whichever one of us gets off work first is responsible for dinner, and a dedicated hour or two each Saturday morning keeps the place clean. I cannot remember being this comfortable in my past relationships – certainly not Quinn when we lived together, or Bill when he slept over. This relationship with Eric is different than anything before.

I am sitting at the desk in Amelia's office when Maria's voice comes over the intercom and tells me there is a call for me on line one. I look at the clock and frown when I see it is already seven o'clock at night. The day had flown by between my regular duties and my recent assignment to work with Claudine on accommodating a rather demanding upcoming wedding. It's far too late for the bride from New York to be calling, and Eric is over at Alcide's playing pool.

"Sookie Stackhouse," I answer the phone.

"Sookie. There you are. I am so glad that I was able to reach you. It's Diantha." She pauses. "Northman," she adds with a laugh, as if I know anyone else named Diantha.

"Oh." I know a look of confusion crosses my face. We had exchanged emails a handful of times, but I haven't spoken to her since Eric and I departed Kauai that morning. "Hello, Diantha."

A million thoughts cross my mind. Why is she calling me? Did she find out about Eric and me? Does she have bad news to relay about our contract with Portia's group? I know the company has been working on negotiating the terms for the conference next year and they have hit a few bumps along the road.

"Is something wrong? Aren't you in New York?"

"No. I mean, yes I'm in New York, but no, nothing is wrong. Of course not," she responds brightly. "I suppose that might be your gut reaction when I call at this hour," she laughs.

"I'm glad to hear it," I reply sincerely. Very rarely are phone calls made at one o'clock in the morning ever to relay good news.

"Sookie, there's something I wanted to talk to you about. To ask you really."

"Oh?"

"It's about Kauai."

"What about it?" Shit. She knows about Eric. I take a deep breath to compose myself, though lose it when she continues.

"I was wondering if you'd like to move there."

"What?" I practically screech.

"I know it's sudden, and I don't need an answer tonight. But I was just lying here in bed with Peter and we were talking about the new property. He says hello by the way."

I mumble hello back, but my mind is racing as I go over her words.

"Anyway, we had some bad news about the staff there earlier tonight. The concierge manager we had lined up to move from the Santa Barbara resort called us and said his wife is pregnant, which of course is wonderful news. However, since they are pregnant, they decided they don't want to move away from her parents. It left me in a bit of a lurch, but then I thought about you, and well…it just seemed to fit!"

My mind races at a million miles a minute. Any relief I may have felt at the knowledge that my relationship with Eric is still off her radar is replaced with anxiety.

"You want me to work at the Kauai resort?"

"We want you to manage the concierge team at the resort," she says.

Oh. Manage the team. Me?

"Why? I mean. I'm a concierge, and I haven't been working in the industry for very long since my two-year break. Don't you think that there might be someone out there with more experience? Someone that could do a better job?" I'm not angling for false modesty. As exciting as the prospect sounds, I also understand the risk at putting someone like me in that big of a role.

"Don't belittle your talents," she says dismissively. "You're the perfect fit for the job. You're young and energetic, and I know you have a passion for the industry. You won Portia Bellefleur over, not to mention both Pam and Eric. There is absolutely no one who would be a better fit."

"But I've only been with the company for a few months. That's hardly enough time…"

"True, but the general manager I have in mind for the property knows exactly what he's doing. He's been with the business for as long as I can remember. And you're close enough to the Oahu property that you'd be able to work something out with Amelia."

I'm silent, the possibilities running through my head. It's a huge compliment that they would even consider me in this capacity. Unless…unless she knows that I'm sleeping with her son and is trying to separate us. No. I'm being paranoid. She has shown me nothing but kindness.

"I don't know what to say."

"I have a gut feeling about this," she says, as if it is that simple. "I knew the minute that I saw your face in the lobby that you'd be perfect for the resort. And as soon as Robert hung up the phone, I knew you were the right choice. It'd be an increase in pay, of course, and you could stay on property in one of the villas until you could figure out your living arrangements."

It all sounds too good to be true.

"Sookie," she continues. "I know this will sound weird to you – both Pam and Eric think I am a bit eccentric when I talk to them like this – but I know that this is your destiny. I have a gut feeling that this is what you're supposed to do and where you are supposed to be."

"Diantha, I…" I have no idea what to say. Here, the opportunity of a lifetime to advance my career is sitting in my lap, and yet again the only thing I can think of is the relationship I am in. With her son.

"Don't say anything now. I want you to go home and sleep on it; talk it over with Amelia or Pam, or…whoever. Peter and I will be in New York for the next couple of days. Just call me when you're ready to make the decision."

I sit back in my chair when the line goes dead, at a complete loss for what to do. Just when I had finally settled down and feel content with my life in Hawaii, this comes along.

I shut down the computer; I know that there is no chance of me getting anything accomplished tonight with this weighing on my mind. I feel like I'm moving in slow motion as I gather my things and say goodbye to Maria, and barely even register the change in temperature as I leave the hotel and head into the parking lot.

Without consciously making any decisions, I find myself pulling into the driveway of Amelia's house. She's the only person I can talk to about this right now. I know Eric will be supportive of whatever I chose, but it is too hard to face him right now knowing that I may make the decision to leave him behind.

Amelia answers my knock, a surprised look on her face when she sees me standing there.

"Sookie!" Her brows are furrowed in confusion. "What are you doing here? Did something happen? Is something wrong?"

I shake my head and ask if I can come inside. I move past her in a daze when she steps inside and fall back heavily on the white sofa in her living room.

"Do you want something to drink? A cup of tea?" She pauses. "A cocktail?"

I wordlessly agree to the second, and sit in the relative quiet as she mixes one of her concoctions. Here, in the silence of her living room, I run through the possibilities in my mind.

"Here," Amelia says, handing a pint glass filled with a green-tinged liquid to me. I drink half of it before coming up for air. "What's wrong Sookie?" She sounds worried as she sits down next to me. "Did you fight with Eric?"

If only it were as simple as that.

"No," I shake my head. "Everything is fine with Eric." Or it is for now. Who knows? It could be just fine forever depending on my decision.

"Good," she smiles. "Good. But something is wrong?"

"No. Yes. I don't know." I lean back in the sofa and take another sip. I feel the liquid burning a path to my stomach this time, and revel in the sensation. Maybe getting good and drunk is exactly what I need to do. Maybe I can forget the dilemma I am facing.

"Why don't you start at the beginning," Amelia suggests. "Did something happen at work?"

I nod.

"Did Arlene say something again? Oh, I've been itching to write her up for something lately. Did she harass you?"

I shake my head. "No, it wasn't Arlene."

"Damn." She shrugs her shoulders and smiles. "What then?"

"Eric's mom called me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," I nod, looking off into the distance.

"Just to say hello, or…"

"She offered me a job in Kauai." There. I said it. Now at least one other person knows.

"She what?"

"Offered me a job in Kauai. Your job specifically."

"What do you mean, my job?"

"Oh," I shake my head. "Not your job as in it was yours for the taking. The head concierge job."

"I thought Robert was moving?"

"No. His wife just found out she was pregnant and they don't want to leave the area and the grandparents." I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "She wants me to take his place; to move to Kauai."

"What did you say?"

I take another drink. "I didn't say anything. She told me to sleep on it and call her in the next few days."

Amelia reaches out and takes my hand in hers, lowering her voice. "What are you going to say?"

"I…I don't know." I take a shuddered breath. "I can't even process it right now. There are all these thoughts bouncing around my head like a super ball. I can't concentrate."

"Have you told Eric?"

"No! I haven't told anyone. Well, now you know, but that's it."

Amelia brings her glass up to her lips and takes a long drink. She licks her lips cautiously. "Are you going to tell him?"

"I think I might have to, depending on the decision," I laugh. "Unless I just don't come home for dinner one night."

"So you're going to say yes?"

"No. I mean, not necessarily. I…I don't know what to think. It's an amazing opportunity, there's no question there. And I've never been to a property like that before. I felt so comfortable there, and the fact that Diantha even thought of me is beyond belief."

"You're an excellent employee."

I roll my eyes.

"No. You are. I wouldn't have hired you if I didn't think you were good, and what you did with Portia is just icing on the cake."

I wave my hand dismissively. "That's nothing."

"No, it's not. You did a good job, and people noticed. That undoubtedly plays into why she offered you this opportunity."

"Yet another kink that conference throws into my life," I say with a tiny laugh. Better to defuse these types of situations with humor than face the facts.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…Eric." I sigh. "Why is it that I finally feel happy with my life; I finally like my job and feel like I'm on the right track; I finally have a man in my life that I lo- erm… that I like."

"You were not going to say 'like', Sookie!" Amelia pounces. "Oh my God. You love Eric Northman, don't you?"

I shake my head quickly; too quickly.

"You do!" she shrieks. "Sookie Stackhouse in love with the GPD! I couldn't have imagined it if I tried." The other problem is momentarily swept under the rug as she peppers me with questions. "When did you figure out you were in love with him? Did you tell him? Does he love you?"

"What? I… I don't know. And no I haven't told him, and no, he hasn't said anything to me. I…don't think he loves me. I…" I recall the way he'd told me that he adored me, the way he's been so sweet and compassionate towards me since we returned from Kauai. Maybe he hasn't said he loves me in words, but there are plenty of actions that could make me think otherwise.

Oh God. I cannot think about the possibility of Eric loving me. That would make things even more difficult to rifle though.

"I don't think he loves me," I repeat, both to Amelia and to reassure myself.

"Alright," she responds softly. "I won't push that issue. Let's just stick with he likes you. A lot."

I nod, and offer up a small smile. "Okay. Yes. Let's stick with that."

"So, you're faced with this job opportunity or a guy you really _really _like?"

I nod.

"And you don't know what to do?"

I shake my head. "I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't."

"How so?"

"If I choose to stay, then what has been the point of this whole move to Hawaii? I thought I had left the girl behind who makes her life decisions based on whatever relationship she is in. If I stay, then I will always know that I made the decision because of whatever I have with Eric. And even though I really _really _like him, I don't want that weighing in the back of my mind."

"Okay, that sounds reasonable. But…?"

"But," I squeeze my eyes shut. "The fact of the matter is that the thought of leaving Eric here makes me feel sick."

Amelia reaches out and takes my now empty cup from me, standing up and returning to the kitchen where she refills the glass and brings it back out.

"I can see why you need a drink."

"Yeah," I nod, taking the full glass with a smile and drinking more.

"Too bad it isn't something as simple as a fight with him, huh?"

I manage a giggle. "If only it were that easy."

We sit in silence, sipping from our cups. My eyes are trained out the window at the beach and the waves that are lapping the shore. There are some stragglers on the beach, but it is mostly desolate, the moonlight casting brilliant light off the water beyond.

"It's a great opportunity," Amelia finally says.

"I know."

"One that doesn't come along very often."

I know that too.

"It's something I never dreamed of happening so quickly. I thought I'd be here for at least a year, maybe two, and that was before anything happened with Eric. Once we…got together…I haven't even contemplated leaving."

"I think you need to talk about it with Eric."

"And say what? Ask him to make the decision for me? Make him as miserable as I am at the possibility, one way or the other? Find out how much he likes me? Maybe push him away so the decision is that much easier?"

"No." She wraps her arm around my shoulder and tucks my head into the crook of her neck. "He's as much of a part of this as you are. He's going to find out eventually – who knows? Maybe Diantha already called and told him; she doesn't have a reason not to since you've insisted on keeping your relationship a secret."

"I didn't want them to think that I was the kind of girl who-"

"I'm not questioning your reasons, Sookie." She strokes my hair gently, in the manner a mother would a child. "But it's going to be better coming from you, no matter which way you slice it. And he deserves to have it come from you."

She's right. I know she's right.

"What if I can't? What if I see him and make the same decision I made with Quinn and Bill?"

"Eric is _nothing_ like Quinn or Bill. You said it yourself. If you love Eric – and I know you do, no matter what you say – if you love him, you owe it to him to have a say. I know you're afraid of the past, of repeating your mistakes. But if you make your decision based on what happened then, it's no better than making a decision based on Eric. Either way, you're making a decision based on a man. Would you rather make it based on Bill Compton? Or would you rather make it based on – and with – Eric?"

**AN:** So…many of you guessed that she was going to get offered the job in Kauai, and she was… now it's just a matter of what she'll choose to do!

Thanks again to everyone for reading, and for those of you that take the time to review, thank you thank you thank you! I know I'm terrible about responding, but I do appreciate every single one of you readers and reviewers! We're nearing the home stretch!


	27. Chapter 27: Over the Falls

**AN:** A special Friday posting (darn work!) of the Surfer. Thanks again to everyone who is reading and reviewing – you're amazing! And special thanks to **pfloogs72**, slayer of prepositions! I hope you all enjoy this

**~~Chapter 27: Over the Falls~~**

Eric isn't home yet when Amelia drops me off. Thanks to the two cocktails Amelia had poured for me, I am in no condition to drive. My usual giggly drunken state, however, is nowhere to be found. The weight of what I need to do sits heavily on me; so heavy that I feel physically bogged down by it.

I peel off my clothes as I walk down the darkened hallway, with little care for where they land. I cannot stop thinking about what Amelia said. Is she right that it is just as bad to base the decision on my fear of repeating my past mistakes, as to base the decision on my desire to stay with Eric? I can't even think about leaving him without feeling sick to my stomach, but I also can't discredit what a move like this would do for my career. And I don't know what is going to happen with Eric; we enjoy being with each other; we have a good time; but nothing has been discussed about our future. I can't imagine sitting him down and forcing his hand to tell me where he thinks we'll be in five years. Or even one year. We aren't there…yet.

But, I know that Amelia's right; that I need to at least have the discussion with Eric and include him in the decision. Maybe we can talk about it like rational adults, without any threat of an ultimatum. I'll have to work on that, but right now all I can think of is going to sleep.

I crawl into bed without washing the makeup off my face, or even brushing my teeth and barely stir when I feel Eric climb in next to me hours later. I mumble a greeting and hardly register the way his arms wrap tightly around me before I fall back into a deep, dreamless slumber.

The sun is well into the sky by the time I peel my eyes open and find myself alone yet again in the massive bed I share with Eric. I hear him moving about in the bathroom, turning on the shower and readying himself for the day. We both have today off – purposefully so – and have plans to go back to the beach where it all began. Today marks the three-month anniversary of our first "unofficial" date. It should have been a day of nothing but celebration, but with the decision weighing on me, I know that it will be anything but.

"You're awake," Eric stands in the doorway to the bathroom wearing nothing but a long white towel slung low over his hips. With a sigh-inducing smile, he walks towards me, stopping when he reaches the bed to lean down and brush a kiss on my forehead. "I thought I was going to have to do the mirror test here soon. You didn't even budge when I climbed into bed last night."

"Sorry," I sit up, remembering I am not wearing anything only after the sheet falls down to expose my naked breasts. I snap up the edge and cover myself, which only makes me feel ridiculous. There isn't a part of me that Eric hasn't seen.

"I stopped by Amelia's and had a few too many of her famous cocktails."

"Something wrong?" He looks concerned. This is exactly the moment when I should tell him.

I don't. I can't. Not yet.

"Just some work stuff." That isn't a lie exactly. It's not the truth either.

"Anything I can help with?"

"Um… not now." I'm a chicken; it's true.

"Okay." I do not know if I am being paranoid, but I could swear that he looks disappointed about something. "But know that I'm here if you need to talk about it; about anything."

He looks so sincere standing there, that I nearly break down. I feel the telltale sting of tears threatening to spill, and squeeze my eyes shut before they make themselves known.

"I know." I stand up abruptly, standing on my tiptoes to brush a kiss on his cheek. "I, uh, suppose I should go and get ready, eh?"

He nods and sits down on the bed, almost in the exact spot I had. I nearly lose it when he reaches out and clasps my hand in his. His eyes search my face, and I feel like he can see straight through me.

"You're sure nothing's wrong?"

"I'm sure." And I'm a liar. I scurry off to the bathroom before I break down.

I turn the faucet to cold, to shock the hangover out of my system and to punish myself for being a coward. I take my time, scrubbing my body and hair clean. With each minute that passes, I resolve to keep today about Eric and me and not about Kauai. Tomorrow can be about the decision. There is no point to ruin the mood of the day.

After dressing and drying my hair, I make my way into the kitchen where I find Eric hunched over his laptop with a steaming cup of coffee.

"I wondered if you'd taken off without me," I say brightly; perhaps too brightly. I try to cover any awkwardness I may have caused by leaning down and brushing a kiss over his lips.

He looks up at me and smiles. "I thought you might need some space."

"Nope," I shake my head and walk over to the coffee pot. My uneasiness is slowly ebbing away with every moment. I take my time to pour my coffee, adding ridiculous amounts of cream and sugar before turning back around to face Eric.

"Do we need to get going right away, or do we have some time yet?"

"I guess what we do is up to you."

"How so?" I ask with a frown.

He slowly closes the lid to his laptop and looks up at me. He leans back in his chair, crossing his hands in his lap as he surveys me.

"What?" I shift from one foot to another underneath his gaze.

"Nothing." He gives a decisive shake of his head.

"I guess we should get going then," I say and guzzle the remaining coffee in my mug.

Eric turns the radio on as soon as we climb into his car, not that I'm complaining. I will take thirty minutes of the greatest hits of Kansas and AC/DC over stilted conversation. I figure I must be giving off an awkward vibe; Eric isn't normally this quiet. Right now I'd say he's downright stoic.

I look out the window as we drive towards Amelia's house and the beach where we'd first met, the wind gently ruffling the hair I'd pulled back into a knot at the base of my neck. The scenery, which I once found so unbelievable blurs past us; nothing more than a common sight after all these months living on the island. I suppose I should be taking it all in, memorizing every detail, if I am going to consider the move. My stomach flips and flops at the thought. After that realization, try as I might, I can't look at anything but Eric.

I rest my head against the tan leather headrest, shifting in my seat to get a better view of the man in question. I'm mesmerized by a single strand of hair that dances in the wind, brushing the top of his right ear before flying into the air once again. After a moment of watching it, I reach out and smooth it down, my hand lingering down the side of his face. A wave of emotions crashes over me, my tear ducts immediately responding; I find it difficult to breathe or swallow as my fingers trail down the slight stubble on his jaw.

He turns the car into one of the ubiquitous paved parking lots, and looks over at me when the car comes to a stop. His are eyes indiscernible behind the reflective lenses of his sunglasses. The smile he gives me is terse, and I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong; or maybe more accurately that he knows exactly what is wrong with me. But if he does, he would say something, right? It's not like Eric to keep his mouth shut about anything. I'm being paranoid.

"I missed you last night." His voice sounds strained. "At Alcide's."

"I missed you too."

"I was sitting there, surrounded by all my friends and all I could think about was getting home to you."

I bite my lower lip and nod, too choked up to say anything. Oh God, how am I going to do this? How was I going to tell him that I was contemplating leaving this? Leaving him?

"I don't think that's ever happened to me before," he continues, turning the car off and facing me.

My arm feels suddenly too heavy to lift, and drops back down to my side.

"Can you believe it's been three months?" I ask, needing to move the topic, albeit only slightly.

"No. Sometimes it seems longer, and sometimes like it was just yesterday."

I nod, knowing exactly the feeling he's talking about. There are times when it seems as if we've been together forever. I know Eric better than I ever knew Bill or Quinn; I feel more like myself around him than I ever have around anyone else before, except maybe my Gran.

We walk hand in hand down the beach, and my breath catches when he picks the exact spot I'd lain the first time I saw him. It's not something I expected him to remember so precisely; it wasn't as if that exact moment should have left an impression. Maybe the spot where we'd talked at their party; or the place we first kissed; but not the place where he had first seen me.

"Good memory," I say, kneeling down in the sand.

"Some things just stick with you." He unfurls two mats, and covers them with towels before peeling his shirt off and kneeling down next to me. He leans down and brushes a kiss across my hairline before reaching down and helping me remove the sundress that covered the same red bikini I'd been wearing that first day; he wasn't the only one who remembered those details.

His fingertips brush against the skin of my legs, ghosting over my hips and stomach as he tugs my cover-up higher and higher. I can't repress the shiver that runs through me when he tells me to raise my arms and slowly peels the cotton over my head.

But just like that, his hands are gone. He carefully folds the cotton cover-up, placing it inside the bag our towels came out of, and instructs me to lie down on the mat. I do as he says, and bury my face into my balled fists as he coats my body in sunblock.

"I had hoped to do this that first day I saw you," he says, his hands work the lotion into every inch of my skin.

"Yeah?" I ask breathlessly. I had clearly been being paranoid earlier; an upset Eric wouldn't do something like this.

"Yeah." He pauses to work the lotion into the small of my back. "I didn't want anything more in the world that day than to touch you."

When he finishes with my back, he gently pulls on my shoulder until I turn, and he begins the process all over. I feel like I've run a marathon by the time he works his way up my legs, over my stomach and the tops of my breasts. By the time I'm good and covered with SPF 40 I am nothing more than a puddle of nerve endings.

I watch as he quickly coats his own skin. I offer to help when he struggles to reach places on his back, and can't help but smile at the way his breathing turns ragged when my fingers brush the top of his board shorts. Feeling empowered by the moment, I snake my hand to his side, and am rewarded with a clasp of my wrist when I venture my fingers even further around his body.

He shakes his head and offers me a rueful smile before settling down on his towel. We lay on the beach together in companionable silence, our fingers intertwined as the bright sun beats down on us from above. This is exactly how I was hoping today would be; nothing more than the two of us enjoying the sun and each other. I don't know how much time passes without a single word between us, and I only stir when I feel my skin begin to burn.

I sit up, poking the red skin of my stomach before looking over to see Eric watching me.

"I think I'm well-done," I say with a smile.

He nods and sits up, reaching out to run his hand over my stomach. I hadn't thought it possible, but his fingers leave the skin there feeling even hotter than the sun.

"You should have said something earlier," he frowns. "You're going to get a burn."

I shake my head, my belly fluttering at his touch. "I think it'll be okay as long as I cover up."

I reach over him and grab my dress out of the beach bag, pulling it over my head and wincing as the material brushes against my skin. Perhaps I will have a sunburn after all. Fantastic. Add that to my ever-growing list of problems today.

"We should go." He begins to straighten up our belongings.

"It's okay." I prop myself up on my knees, reach out and grab his wrist. I don't want to ruin this for him; I want today to go on forever, because I know once I mention the Kauai possibility, things will change one way or another. "I'll be fine. I've gotta look out for myself sometimes." I offer him what I hope is a flirtatious smile.

"I'm well aware of that, Sookie." I drop my hand at the sharp note in his voice. "I was just trying to help."

"And you are!" I say quickly; too quickly. "I don't want to ruin this moment because of a sunburn is all."

He stops in mid-motion, the towel he had balled up held halfway in the beach bag beside him.

"Your sunburn hasn't ruined anything." He slowly lowers the towel into the bag. "Nothing that wasn't ruined anyway."

"What does that mean?"

He looks over at me and I see a flurry of emotions cross his face before he sets his mouth in a rigid line. "Fine. I was hoping you'd broach this, but since you clearly aren't planning on saying anything about Kauai, I will."

Oh no. No. I feel my head shaking, but can't seem to stop it.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" he continues.

I slowly sit back down, my butt resting on my heels. "I…uh…how did you find out?"

"Pam told me." Shit. "Pam. My _sister_ knew that my girlfriend was planning on moving, and I didn't. So I have to ask…were you even going to talk it over with me? Or does my opinion not matter?"

"Eric." I close my eyes and focus on taking a deep breath, feeling the air fill my lungs and releasing it again. When I reopen my eyes I find him staring at me, waiting for me to continue.

"I was going to tell you."

"Really? When? Right before you hopped on the plane? After you packed your bags? Were you going to disappear into the night without a goodbye." he scoffs, his anger becoming more visible with every word.

Okay, I will admit that I deserve this reaction; it doesn't make it any easier to deal with.

"That's unfair!"

"No. You pretending like nothing's happened is what's unfair. I tried to give you the chance to tell me; hoped that you would, but I can't take it anymore. This hasn't been a game to me Sookie. I thought we…well I guess that's not important now."

"What's not important?"

He shakes his head. "Has all of this meant nothing to you?"

"How can you ask that?"

A group of laughing teenagers interrupts our argument, giving Eric an out from answering my question.

"We shouldn't do this here," Eric says, and shoves the rest of our belongings into the beach bag.

"No, we shouldn't." He stands up and picks up the bag, turning on his heel and leaving me to ball up my own towel and mat.

I trail after him, getting more upset with myself and at him with every step. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. I know that it's my fault for not saying something right away, but it certainly could have been handled differently on his end.

He is already in the car by the time I reach it. We say nothing to each other as he starts the car, and nothing on the drive back; the ride is excruciatingly long and painful. I try to think of something to say; something that will smooth things over. But every time I think of something, I get mad at the situation. He should understand that this isn't easy for me. I have told him everything about my past, about the way decisions just like this affected my life and future.

I open the door to the car before we are at a full stop in his driveway, unable to be in such close proximity to him anymore. I storm to the front door and wait with my arms crossed over my chest like a petulant fourteen year old for him to get here with the keys.

As soon as the door is shut behind him, I turn and look at him for the first time since the park. His mouth is set in a firm line.

"How can you even ask if this means nothing to me, Eric?" I snap, picking the conversation up exactly where we'd left it off on the beach. "Do you really think that I would have dated you; slept with you; moved _in_ with you if this meant nothing to me?"

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the wall behind him.

"Is that your answer?" I think my eyebrows are somewhere near my hairline. "Really?"

"I don't know what to think, Sookie."

"How can you even say that?" I sound slightly hysterical. "How can you even _think_ that?"

"How can I _not_ think that?" He pushes away from the wall and begins pacing in front of me. "If this meant something to you, I would have thought you would have wanted to talk about it with me; you'dve cared what I thought."

"And you think I didn't? I don't?"

"You didn't say anything."

"Because I haven't even let myself think about it!" I shake my head and look over to the kitchen, trying to gather my thoughts. I walk over to the empty sofa and pause before sitting down. "Can we sit down? I can't do this in the hallway."

He nods and walks over, sitting on the armchair across from me. A part of my heart breaks when he sits down, emphasizing the distance between us both emotionally and physically.

"I haven't made a decision, Eric," I start. "I…I can't even think about it really."

I hope that he interjects; that he says something. He doesn't.

"I was shocked when your Mom called me and offered me the position. I'm…still in shock. I didn't want to say anything to you today because I didn't want anything to get in the way of our day."

"So you thought leaving me in the dark was a better option?"

"No. Of course not." I rub my forehead with my fingertips, massaging the tension at my temples. "Today was supposed to be fun; relaxing. I thought if I brought up your parents' offer that we'd end up arguing. But…I guess that happened anyway."

I slump back into the cushion behind me and close my eyes, wishing – albeit hopelessly – that this would go away, that we could go back to the way it was before any of this happened. I open my eyes when I feel Eric's weight sink down next to me, and turn my head when he takes my hand.

"What are you going to do?" he asks softly.

"I don't know." I have to be honest; I can't pacify him and say I won't go, when I haven't decided. "I fought so hard to become who I am. I promised myself that I would never pass up an opportunity like this, but…"

He nods, his tongue darting out to brush his bottom lip. The grip on my hand tightens as he pulls me towards him, wrapping his arms around me. The tears that have been threatening to spill all day form at my eyes when I feel his heart beating underneath my cheek, but I somehow force them back after only one drops.

I rub the skin of my cheek against the cotton of his t-shirt before I pull back and look up at him.

"What should I do, Eric?"

"I can't answer that for you." He reaches out and traces his thumb along my cheekbone, brushing the wetness that lies there.

"I know." My breath comes out in a loud sigh.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

He chuckles, the laughter rumbling his chest beneath my fingertips. "Ever?"

"Not really."

"What did my Mom say?"

And I tell him. I tell him of my surprise at the offer, of the way I'd driven blindly to Amelia's and had tried to drink away the problem I am now facing. I tell him of the fitful way I slept, the way my stomach churns at the thought of making a decision.

"I've been here before," I say. "Well maybe not exactly here. But I've made decisions between my career and my relationships twice, and both times I picked my relationship. When I moved here…when I left Bill…I promised myself I'd never make that choice again. But…here I am again. I have you and I have my job. It should be simple and yet it's not, it's different."

"How is it different, Sookie?" His calm voice cracks slightly, and I swallow the lump in my throat.

"You're not Quinn. You're not Bill. I…never felt like this about either of them." I close my eyes and take a deep breath. In for a penny, right? "I didn't love them."

"And you," he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing. "Love me?"

I bite my lip and nod, unable to say the words.

His hand stills on my back. I search his face for his response. I need to know his response more than I need to breathe at the moment.

"I…love you Eric."

The corners of his lips twitch slightly, and the corners of his eyes crinkle before the grin encompasses his entire face. With lightening speed, he captures my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face up to his and brushing his lips softly over mine.

"You say that no problem, but can't tell me about a job offer?" he teases, his breath tickling the skin of my mouth.

"Eric."

He captures my mouth once again, his lips demanding a response. I am completely out of breath when he pulls away and rests his forehead on mine.

"I love you too, Sookie."

"Really?"

"Really," he chuckles. "How could I not?"

I sigh and sink against his chest. It feels as though one weight has been lifted off my shoulders, only to be replaced with another. How can I possibly think of leaving Eric after that exchange?

"What am I going to do?" I ask after a few minutes of silence. I can't avoid it; there's no use in trying.

"That's a decision you have to make Sookie." His voice is rough and reverberates through my body. "I'll support whatever choice you make."

"I don't want to leave you."

His arms tighten around me and I hear his breath hitch before he responds. "Kauai…isn't that far."

It's true. As a matter of distance, it isn't. But if I make the decision to leave, it will inevitably change things in our relationship. Being an ocean apart doesn't exactly make for easy drop by visits, and we had been living under the same roof for too long to pretend going back to an arrangement where we saw each other every once in awhile would satisfy either of us.

"We'll make it work." His lips brush the top of my head. "Whatever we have to do, we'll make it work."


	28. Chapter 28: Taking the Plunge

**~~Chapter 28: Taking the Plunge~~**

"Are you ready to do this?" Eric asks, taking my hand in his.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess." I nod solemnly and gently bite down on my bottom lip. I had known this day wouldn't be easy, but I hadn't expected it to be quite this emotional.

He squeezes my hand in his, tugging me ever so gently closer to him as he leads me out to the employee parking lot. I had just logged off my computer for the last time at the Grand Ho`olaule`a; the last pieces of business wrapped up and passed along to Maria to oversee.

After a few days of weighing my options - of talking everything out with Amelia, Eric, Pam and even Diantha -I had made the decision to take the job in Kauai. The choice hadn't been an easy one. Eric aside – and believe me, he was one of the biggest considerations – Oahu is where my friends are; it's where I became the changed woman I am today. Picking up and moving to the unknown so shortly after having finally settled in – no matter how close or far away – is a bit scary. But as intimidating as it is, it is clear that staying isn't an option. If I didn't accept the job, if I didn't make the move, I had known that I would be kick myself eventually. When I really thought about my transformation these past few months, I knew that the most important lesson I'd learned is to trust myself; to trust my instincts. My instincts were screaming at me to make the move.

That decision had been nearly two months ago, and I'd be lying if I said it had been an easy two months leading up to this day. I had never had a group of friends the likes of my co-workers at the Grand Ho'olauele'a, and they had ensured that my last weeks at the hotel were celebrated appropriately.

I look over at Eric, the setting sun reflecting off of his too long blond hair and feel the familiar lump in my throat. I step closer to him, wrapping my arm around his waist and barely contain a sigh when he brushes his lips across the top of my head.

"You okay?" he asks.

I nod and pull to a stop, forcing us to turn around and look at the resort one last time. I can't help but get choked up as my eyes take in the panoramic view. So much has happened here that helped me become the person I always wanted to be. If I hadn't come to Hawaii; if I hadn't agreed to work for Amelia, I don't know where I would be. Whatever it would have been, I can't imagine that it would have been better than what I have now.

"It's not the last time you'll see it," Eric says, running his hand up and down the length of my bare arm.

"I know." I swallow back my tears and shake my head resolutely. "I'm just being sentimental I guess."

"Of course you are. It's natural that you'd feel this way."

I take a deep breath and look out at the water one last time. The setting sun casts brilliant hues of pink and orange on the horizon and I try to commit the vision to memory. When I'm satisfied that I've made enough of a mental image, I look back at Eric.

"I guess we should go."

He nods and leads me to his car, opening the door and helping me climb inside. He stops short of buckling my seat belt for me, but I think it's only because of the look I give him. He brushes a kiss across my lips before shutting the door behind him and walking around to the driver's side.

The drive back to the house goes quickly – too quickly almost. This is the last night we'll be there together. Everything is packed and ready to go first thing in the morning, well, everything that I hadn't shipped over the week before. I give myself a pep talk as Eric pulls into his driveway, so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I don't notice the cars that line the street and driveway until I climb out and run into one of them.

"What?" I ask, shaking my head. "Whose cars are these?"

Eric doesn't say a word, only smiles down at me as he takes my hand and walks me up to the front door.

"What's going on?" I ask, looking up at him.

He shrugs as the door swings open to reveal a very excited, very intoxicated Amelia.

"I thought you'd never get here!" she squeals, wrapping her arms around me in a giant bear hug. "Pam said you two would be late; something about taking extra time to say goodbye."

I blush, both from Pam's suggestion, and the bawdy wink Amelia gives Eric before she continues. "I know exactly how you Northmans like to celebrate these occasions."

Eric's laughter fills the air as he lets go of my hand and tosses his arm over my shoulder. "She took a long time saying goodbye. Longer than I expected."

"I'm sure she did. That linen closet is awfully convenient, isn't it?"

Eric nods with a chuckle.

"Eric!" I nudge him in the ribs with my elbow, and turn to address Amelia. "We didn't go anywhere near the linen closet. I was going over everything with Maria one last time."

"Um hmm." Amelia steps to the side. "Whatever you want to call it, but you two need to get your butts in here. We can't have a going away party without the party who is going away."

She spins on her heel and heads back into her house, leaving us to follow at our own pace.

"Did you know about this?"

He shrugs, raising his hands to plead his innocence.

"I could shoot you Eric Northman! I 'm not dressed for a party."

"You look perfect." He leans down to whisper in my ear, his breath sending a shiver down my spine. "And I can think of a million things you'd rather do than shoot me."

"You're going to pay for this." I scowl and playfully slap at his arm before turning to follow in Amelia's wake.

I hear him say that he looks forward to it, but don't bother to turn around. I know he's behind me without even looking.

Just like the first night I'd come to the party at Eric's house, the living room is full of beautiful people. Unlike that night though, I know them all. The urge I'd felt to cower in the corner that night is gone, replaced by smiles and greetings to the familiar faces.

It appears that we are the last to arrive, not that it stopped anyone from starting without us.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Amelia announces to the crowd, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen and tilting her head in our direction.

"It's about damn time," Pam says, hopping down from her perch on the counter. She unceremoniously shoves two glasses of Amelia's famous punch in our hands without another word.

"Nice to see you too, Sis," Eric smirks. "It's nice to see you went all out." He raises the red plastic cup in his hand before taking a long drink.

"It's easier to clean," she shrugs. "You know I don't like getting my hands dirty."

"That's not what Amelia told me," Lafayette chirps in, leaning forward to brush a kiss against my cheek.

"That's a different kind of dirty," Pam shrugs. Her lips curl up into a smile as she looks at me. "What are we going to do now that we aren't going to be able to embarrass poor Sookie here, Laf?"

"There's always Maria," he replies with a shrug. "She seems pretty innocent."

"Oh God," I chuckle, leaning back into Eric's chest as he wraps an arm around my waist. "Leave the poor girl alone. You two are terrible."

"Guilty," Pam shrugs. "But you do turn such a delicious shade of red."

"You do," Eric murmurs into my ear; I feel his lips curve into a smile. "Red's a good color on you."

"Shush."

"You can't monopolize her all night, Eric," Amelia interrupts, pulling me out of his embrace. "You're going to have her all to yourself soon enough." She shakes her head. "My best friend moves out to live with me, shacks up with you and now you're sweeping her away from me. I don't even know what to say."

"Technically," Eric replies, letting go of me without a fight, "she's sweeping me away."

I still can't believe the way things turned out; that Eric had called his mother to suggest that he take on the management role at the new property. I hadn't asked him to go with me – wouldn't ask him to move unless he wanted to – but it had certainly helped make my decision a heck of a lot easier. Diantha hadn't been surprised when Eric made the call, in fact she'd straight out asked Eric if he was moving because of me. Apparently we hadn't hidden our infatuation as well as I had thought. And, just as Eric had suggested initially, Diantha hadn't been upset by our relationship. In fact, she seemed to like the idea of the two of us together. She'd called me as soon as she'd hung up with Eric to tell me as much.

"It was your choice," I point out.

"As if I had a choice." His eyes sweep down the length of my body. "I wasn't about to let you get away."

"Would you two please stop?" Pam interjects, wedging herself between my body and Eric's. "Enough of this goopy, lovey dovey stuff. I'm stealing your girlfriend for the night and I don't want to hear anything about it."

I take Pam's outstretched hand and smile over my shoulder in Eric's direction with a shrug. "See you later?"

I barely have time to see him nod before Pam and Amelia sweep me out of his reach, and onto the patio. There are torches lit around the low walls, casting dancing shadows across the crowd that has spilled onto the beach beyond. The air is filled with the thumping bass pouring out of the speakers, bodies moving in the otherwise still night air.

I finish one drink, then two more. All the stress of packing and moving I'd felt throughout the last few weeks dissipates with every sip, and I find myself out on the makeshift dance floor without a care in the world. I haven't let go like this for a long time; I haven't felt this carefree in years. I don't know how long I'm out there before I catch Eric's eye as I spin around. A smile crosses my face and I wave for him to come join me, frowning when he shakes his head in denial. I haven't danced with him before, but if his grace on the surfboard and in the…well… anyway, I imagine he'll have a few moves on the dance floor.

I excuse myself from Claudine and Lafayette, and weave my way through the throng of dancing bodies.

"Hey," I say when I reach Eric, standing up on my tiptoes to kiss Eric's cheek. I laugh when I lose my balance and fall into the hard wall of his body.

"Hey yourself," he replies with a chuckle, reaching out his free hand to steady me. "Looks like you had a few of Amelia's cocktails, eh?"

"A few," I nod, leaning into his body. The cotton of his button down shirt feels cool against my heated skin, and I press my forehead into his chest.

"Do you want to go get some air?"

"We're outside," I point out. "I don't know how we could get more air. What I want, is for you to come join me on the dance floor."

He shakes his head and unwraps my arms from around his waist. "Let's go for a walk."

I shrug and take the hand he offers to me, allowing him to lead me around the perimeter of the patio and down the steps leading to the beach. I nearly run into his back when he stops short and bends down to undo the buckles on the straps of my platform shoes. I mutely follow his instructions as he lifts one foot, then another; and let out a sigh when the cool sand covers my toes.

We walk hand in hand away from the crowd, the noise from the party fading into near silence by the time we stop. I sink down to my knees, sitting back on my heels and look out to the waves lapping against the shore. It's a familiar sight by now, but one I won't see in exactly this spot for a while. I think back to that first night I'd met Eric – or at least met him officially as Eric. I'd been in nearly this exact spot when he'd come out to find me after I'd wandered away from that party. Or, more pointedly, away from him. I had been so set on avoiding him that night; it is funny how life came back full circle. Here we were, together, on the last night for both of us on Oahu.

I look over my shoulder at Eric. His eyes are on me, the corners of his lips upturned in a smile. He pushes up from his relaxed position and reaches a hand out to me, beckoning me to curl up against his side, which I do willingly.

"Do you remember the night of your party?" I start. "The night I found out that the hot surfer was actually my boss?"

"You thought I was hot?"

I chuckle and look up at him. "As if that was even a question."

"If I remember correctly, you were here on a date. With Alcide."

I nod. "I don't know that I'd call it a date."

"He did," Eric laughs.

"Really?"

"Really. And I was happy for him, right up until the moment I realized that you were the girl he was here with. Then…well I think I expressed my sentiments about that."

I smile as I recall Eric's reaction to my supposed date with Alcide. It had seemed so slick, so disingenuous at the time. And who knows? It probably had been. Eric hadn't known me from Adam.

"I was just thinking about how much has changed from that night."

Eric says nothing, his silence encouraging me to continue.

"When I decided to visit Amelia, I thought I needed a quick break; a way to get away from Bill. I never expected to stay out here; never expected to get a job or…" I shake my head. "I was so afraid of everything. I'd spent so much time living within the confines of what others wanted that I wasn't even sure what I wanted."

"And now you know?"

I nod. "And now I know." I tip my head back and look into his eyes. "It took me a while to figure it out."

"I, for one, am glad you did. Though we could have saved ourselves a lot of time and headache if you'd just done this that night."

"Done what?"

He doesn't respond with words, instead closing the gap between us, his lips capturing mine in a kiss. My body sinks into his and we fall back against the soft sand.

I pull away, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose before propping myself on my elbow and looking down on him.

"You're sure you want to make this move?" It is something we've discussed more times than I can count, but just as I am afraid of doing something for him, I am afraid he's doing this for me; that it's not something he really wants.

He chuckles and props himself on his elbows. "How many times do I have to tell you this, Sookie?"

"I don't know," I reply honestly. "I just don't want you to make a decision like this based on me."

"While you were a deciding factor, you weren't the only one. I've told you that I've been thinking about taking a more active role in the company. As much as I like being nothing more than a surf instructor, I've learned a few things myself over these past months. I've been hiding from my responsibilities. I thought the lifestyle I had was everything I ever needed until you came along."

He reaches out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, stopping to rub his thumb along my jawline.

"I thought it was enough to date around, to help whenever I was needed and no more. But watching you come out here, making yourself a new person…it made me realize that I was wrong. I want to go to Kauai because you're going there. But even more than that, I want to go so that I can finally start doing what I'm supposed to do. It's…" he trails off. "It's a bit like surfing."

"How so?"

"Well, you can spend your entire life paddling in safety and think you're having a great time. You can push yourself to try to stand up, and when the waves knock you down, you can give up and go back to paddling."

"And you staying here is…?"

"Paddling; playing it safe. The waves are still out there, still ready to knock you over. And it's a matter of what you chose to do with it. I'm choosing to stand up and try it out. Because, while you can't stop the waves, you can learn how to surf."

And in that moment, I know that we'll be okay no matter what happens. With his words, I know that Eric is moving as much for himself as he is for me – maybe even more so. Despite his outward veneer, maybe Eric too is just trying to figure it all out too, taking it one step – or wave in his case – at a time. And I know that no matter what happens on this next adventure, I wouldn't want to do it without Eric by my side. And that's what makes this different than any other decision I have ever made; I am not doing this for him, or even for me. We are doing this together; for us, and I can't imagine it any other way.

**

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AN:** Well folks, that's it for the surfer and his little beach bunny. I hope you enjoyed the ride! I can't tell you how much I appreciate each and every one of you that have taken the time to read this story through all its ups and downs – thank you for sticking with it!

Massive thanks (or perhaps I should say Mahalo) to pfloogs72 for pre-reading and offering the best advice around. It wouldn't have been the same without you.


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